These Provincial Lives
by NeitherSparky
Summary: Belle may have gotten her fairytale ending, but how will events affect a certain sidekick?
1. They Just Fade Away

These Provincial Lives  
a Disney's Beauty and and Beast Fanfic  
by  
C. "Sparky" Read  
_Part I:_  
**"...They Just Fade Away"**

It was nearing noon in the quaint little village of Molyneaux when Ignatius LeFou finally limped out of the doctor's house, having had the misfortune to be the very last in line the night before. The men had hardly spoken to one another during their flight from the castle, nor during their wait for treatment for their injuries as they queued up outside Doctor Pye's office while the night broke into morning. Nobody wanted to believe what they had witnessed at the mysterious castle, although they had to, having experienced it firsthand; however not discussing it seemed to make it less real somehow, which was a bit of a comfort. Wives, children, and all those others who had not taken part in the storming of the castle - including old Doctor Pye himself - found a chore ahead of them as they pressed for details, but it would be some time before anyone knew the full truth of what had really transpired. 

LeFou not only didn't want to discuss it, he didn't even want to think about it. Forget the Beast (whom he had not seen, except that brief glimpse in the Mirror), those knives alone would haunt his dreams for years. And he was sure he would never know just what had jabbed him in the posterior, which was just fine with him. 

Although he would have much preferred crawling into bed, LeFou only stopped at his room at the back of the tavern long enough to grab another pair of shoes. He then made a beeline for the stables behind the building, snagging two apples from a basket against the back wall of the tavern on his way. 

He didn't even have to call out; a deep nicker from the first stall told him that the old stallion knew he was coming. A charcoal-grey head emerged over the stable wall and bobbed in greeting. LeFou held up an apple and it was gobbled up immediately, the horse then extending his lips towards the other fruit. 

LeFou backed up, holding the apple out of reach. "This one's for Stella, Omri," he chided, as he did every day. "Just because you're bigger doesn't mean you get everyone's share." 

His Supreme Royal Majesty King Omri the Most Exalted (for that was the stallion's full name) snorted as if insulted and retaliated by stretching out his neck and gnawing on the roof of the stable. LeFou ignored him and moved to the next stall. 

"Stella," he called, painfully climbing onto a stool and squinting into the dark depths of the stall, trying to make out the shape of the black mare. He whistled. "C'mon girl, get your apple." Stella was Gaston's charger, a headstrong, pitch-black steed. Omri, a former show horse retired to stud (LeFou had inherited him from his late father), was her sire, and both were kept in private stables behind the tavern, where LeFou could have exclusive care of them. Although both horses were rather valuable, LeFou himself wasn't that picky about who cared for Omri; however Gaston never let anyone but himself, or LeFou, touch Stella. As a result, the mare was skittish and unpredictable around anyone but those two men, and the villagers knew well enough by now to keep their distance. Even LeFou knew better than to do so much as raise his voice with her. Although she let LeFou groom her, not even he could ride her. Gaston was the only person she had ever allowed to sit on her back. She was nearly wild, and Gaston had always admired her greatly. 

When LeFou's eyes adjusted to the dark he could see that the stall was empty, and she was plainly not out in the paddock. Gaston had left Stella outside the castle gates when he had led the men to batter the door, and he never would have forgotten to retrieve her. And unlike her sire, she wasn't likely to leave without her master and return to her stall alone. If Gaston never would have left Stella behind, and Stella never would have left Gaston behind...LeFou bit his tongue...then they both must still be out there somewhere. They hadn't come back. 

After quickly relinquishing the remaining apple to Omri and sloshing a bucketful of water into his trough, LeFou hurried to Gaston's house, built just on the outskirts of the town square, and pounded on the door. Although the logic was there, he had to be sure that Gaston really wasn't safe and sound at home, after what had...happened. Surely Gaston of all people would have escaped unscathed from that brutal scene - LeFou simply couldn't believe otherwise. He pounded again. 

"He's not at home." 

Spinning around at the voice, LeFou frowned at Monsieur Ockley, the purveyor of the town's small bookshop, who had appeared out of nowhere to stand at the bottom of Gaston's porch, an open book in his hand. The shopkeeper closed the book and removed his spectacles before adding: "He hasn't returned to the village." 

LeFou came slowly down the steps. "He hasn't?" he parrotted, that logic coming back to haunt him. 

Monsieur Ockley shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Neither he nor Belle or her father have been seen since last night." The bookseller wasn't unsympathetic to LeFou's concern; he'd known him since he was born. 'That boy's as loyal as a hound,' he'd said often of Ignatius LeFou. To tell the truth, the elderly man wasn't without worry of his own, although he was concerned mostly about Belle. No one knew what had caused Maurice's invention to smash its way into the inventor's cellar, and it could only be presumed that they had both taken Phillipe and headed after the angry mob. 

"Then I'm going to look for him." Monsieur Ockley was shaken out of his reverie as LeFou hurried past him back towards the tavern. The bookseller opened his mouth to call after him, then thought better of it and returned to his shop. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"LeFou! Hey, LeFou!" 

LeFou reluctantly drew Omri to a halt as a handful of villagers hurried towards him. He'd almost made it out of town before the inevitable question was thrown at him: 

"Where's Gaston?" demanded one of the three blonde knockouts who were always chasing after Gaston and ignoring the advances of every other man in town. LeFou thought that this one might be called Chloe, though he wasn't sure; Gaston himself had avoided confusion simply calling all three "Hey there." Somehow LeFou knew that the same tactic would never work for him, so he tried to keep their names straight. But it wasn't easy. 

Another Knockout, who may have been called Pamela, jostled her way forward. "Where _is_ he?" she pouted bustily. 

"I haven't seen him all _daaaay_," whined the last one, whose name might have been Monette. 

"Neither have I," said the man who had spoken first. It was Denis, the blacksmith. "He must have come back very late." 

"No he didn't," said LeFou quickly before any more questions could be asked. "He didn't come back at all. I'm going to look for him." He paused a moment, then, bravely: "Who's coming with me?" 

The men in the group looked mutely at each other for a few seconds. Then Bertram, the baker, stepped forward. "Are you off your nut, LeFou?" he growled. "You think any of us is going to go back..._back there?_" The last part was in a whisper, as if it was a dirty phrase that might offend the female ears present. 

"Forget it," agreed Denis. "Besides, this is Gaston we're talking about. He doesn't need any help from us. If he's out there, he'll be back. Sooner rather than later, right men?" The men quickly voiced agreement. 

LeFou frowned and shifted on the pillow he'd strapped to his saddle (what _had_ stabbed him?). "Well I'm going anyway," he said stubbornly, and guided Omri away from the crowd and towards the wood. Nobody said anything to stop him. 

Although LeFou urged Omri to hurry, the stallion seemed to sense his master's reluctance to venture closer to the castle and hung back recalcitrantly, making progress slow. There was something peculiar about the woods today, about the air itself, which LeFou couldn't quite put his finger on. He'd been hunting in these woods since his father had taught him how to hold a gun, and the place had always felt close somehow, like something was pressing down; needless to say he wasn't a great fan of hunting alone, though venturing into such a place with someone like Gaston was a different story altogether. That had been acceptable, simply because Gaston refused to be intimidated. 

But today...today...Something was different, period. The woods seemed to breathe easier, somehow, and that strange pressure was absent. If he didn't recognise the path, LeFou would have sworn it was a different wood entirely. More sun seemed to filter through the trees too, so the place was brighter than he'd ever seen it. It even smelled different. 

Although the atmosphere was more inviting, the change filled LeFou with an inexplicable dread; a sense that something terribly significant had taken place, and the fear of the unknown threatened everything like a raging forest fire. LeFou gripped Omri's reins tighter, and when a sharp whinny suddenly echoed through the trees, he cried out in terror and nearly tumbled to the ground. 

Omri stiffened at the sound; he flared his nostrils and pricked his ears. When the whinny repeated itself he leapt forward, causing LeFou to cry out again and fight to stay in the saddle. The pillow slipped away, making the ride even rougher. 

The stallion and his hapless rider charged suddenly into a small clearing and into the midst of a commotion consisting of three riderless horses and two men. Two of the horses, both chestnut geldings, pranced about nervously as the men tried to catch the reins of the third horse, a sleek black mare, who whinnied again and reared defensively, trying to avoid capture. The sudden appearance of Omri and LeFou startled the entire group, and the younger of the men paid for his distraction when the mare squealed and reared again, striking him a glancing blow on the right shoulder with a foreleg. 

LeFou was shouting before he even fully dismounted. "Get back!" he cried, hurrying forward. "Stay away from her, she'll kill you! Don't touch her!" 

The two men, who by this time fully believed that the enraged mare might actually kill them, backed off obediently as LeFou pushed past. The black charger dropped to all fours and grumbled, her forelegs planted far apart and her ears pressed flat against her head. 

"Hey!" hissed the younger of the two men as LeFou approached the trembling mare, but the other man stilled him with a touch on his arm. 

"Good girl, Stella," LeFou addressed the horse nervously, inching closer, and stopping several paces away from her. "It's all right now, easy. They didn't know the rules, that's all. I set 'em straight. They're not gonna touch you." 

Stella, her head held low, snorted as she took in LeFou's familiar scent. The one who rode her had disappeared and now the one who did everything else had come for her. She came forward slowly, her ears slightly lifted, to get a better smell. 

Behind LeFou, the two men watched with interest as the nervous mare allowed the short man to take her reins. "Is it safe now?" the younger one whispered hoarsely as LeFou started to lead Stella slowly back towards Omri, who greeted his offspring with a low nicker. 

"Don't ever try to touch Stella," LeFou advised as he continued to keep a close eye on the mare for signs of panic. "She doesn't like it." 

"As we gathered," conceded the older man as the two moved to retrieve their horses. "She's a fine animal. So's the other one. Are they both yours?" 

LeFou risked a look over his shoulder at the two men. The younger one was wiry thin, with brown hair and dark eyes, and looked no more than his own age. The other, while much older, had an impressive build. His hair, which had not thinned much with age, was white, and he had a moustache and light blue eyes. They were both dressed in the same uniform, which LeFou thought he may have seen before, long ago, and wore official-looking gold badges on their chests depicting two crossed arrows. Their horses had trappings in the same colors: blue and gold. Both horses were equipped with saddle quivers and a longbow was slung over the shoulders of each men. 

"Only one. You two must have come a long way to hunt here," LeFou remarked curiously. "Where are you from?" 

The men stole a glance at each other, and did not answer. 

Assured now that Stella, further calmed by her sire's presence, was not going to attack anyone, LeFou turned around. "Don't remember?" he teased with a grin. 

The men remained silent for a moment more, and LeFou got that weird feeling again. Before he could say anything else, the older man executed a short bow. "You have our thanks for calming down the mare before she could harm us. I hope you will excuse us now, as we must be on our way." He nodded at the younger man, and they both prepared to mount their horses. 

"Wait!" LeFou blurted without thinking, stumbling forward and letting go of Stella's reins. "I mean - please," he amended as the men looked at him quizzically. "I'm looking for someone. This is his horse," he motioned to Stella. "Gaston. You know Gaston, right? I mean, of course you do - everyone does, I mean - he's Gaston!" Miraculously he managed to cut his rambling short as the weird feeling pressed down on him again. He took a deep breath and gulped. "Maybe...maybe you've seen him?" 

Again the men exchanged a look, but this one was different, gloomier. "We should tell him," stated the older man suddenly, stepping away from his horse. When the younger man started to protest, he was interrupted with: "Nobody said we shouldn't say anything. It would be difficult to keep a secret for long anyways. I'll tell him if you won't." Then to LeFou (who was quite confused) he said, "My name is Bernaud, and this is Bain. We are the Prince's Royal Archers." 

LeFou blinked several times. "Which Prince?" he asked, assuming they meant one far away, as there hadn't been princely rule in this area for at least ten years. 

"Your Prince," replied Bernaud. "Prince Christophe." 

"Never heard of him." 

Bernaud nodded in understanding. "Come along," he said. "Let's find a place to have lunch. We have quite a tale for you, if you care to believe it." 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

It was dusk when LeFou returned to the village of Molyneaux. He was on foot and leading the two horses, whose mass formed walls on either side of him; their noses hung inches from the ground as they plodded along, matching their master's slow steps. As the procession crossed the town square on its way to the darkened tavern a few women and men standing about the square sharing evening gossip fell silent and stared. 

"LeFou." 

LeFou halted as the blacksmith's boots stepped into view. He didn't look up. 

"LeFou," Denis repeated, as the others quietly crept up behind him to hear better. "Where's Gaston?" 

Everyone held their breath as they waited for a reply. A mumbled, "He's dead," brought only stunned silence. "Gaston is dead," LeFou confirmed with more conviction, then the crowd parted as he proceeded, still never having looked up, on his way to stable the horses. 


	2. Stop the Fairytale, I Want To Get Off

These Provincial Lives  
a Disney's Beauty and and Beast Fanfic  
by  
C. "Sparky" Read  
_Part II:_  
**"Stop the Fairytale, I Want To Get Off"**

"Oyez, oyez! 

"Greetings unto the populous of Molyneaux! This Proclamation announced by Royal Decree. 'Tis time to rejoice in the return of His Royal Highness, Prince Christophe d'Argentbrume, Sovereign of Silvermist. Prince Christophe has once again assumed the throne, and wishes all to delight in his gentle rule. All the subjects of the Principality are invited to join His Royal Highness and his consort at a Ball to be held at the Palace in ten days time, in deference to the ten years the throne stood empty. It is wished that all might attend in good spirits, and in good hope. Long live Prince Christophe! That is all." 

Belle paused in her packing to listen self-consciously to the herald outside, feeling a shiver run up her spine when he said the words "his consort." By now, everyone in town must know who that was. The Prince's Royal Archers had returned from hunting the day after the enchantment was broken, reporting that they had told the entire story to a townsman, who had surely in turn informed the entire village. There was no going back now. 

Maurice noticed his daughter had gone a bit rigid while in the process of putting books in a wooden crate and stepped up behind her, his own arms full of cogs and whatnots. "Belle," the old inventor prompted softy. "There's nothing to worry about. Everything will be fine. You've been fretting over what these villagers will think of you for days." 

Belle sighed and stood up, picking up the crate. "I _am_ worried, Papa," she said, turning around. "I've always been different. Now I'm much moreso." She looked down. "I really don't want anyone to think badly of me." 

Maurice huffed. "You're their _Princess!_" he blurted. "Or you will be soon. They couldn't think _more_ highly of you!" 

"I'm not so sure." Belle looked around as someone stepped through the open door of the cottage. It was the servant who had been sent along with his wife in a wagon to help transport Belle and Maurice's personal effects back to the Palace. He smiled brightly at her, and she smiled back. All the servants had been so kind to her - and why not, Lumiere had pointed out. It was because of Belle that they had all been restored to their human forms. This servant, Belle had been told, had been a pitchfork in the stables, and his pretty wife had been a ladder. Belle couldn't help but wonder what it was like to spend ten years as a ladder in a horse stable. 

As Belle handed the crate to the young man, she changed the subject. "That's the last of my things," she told her father. "I'm going to walk across town now, and give Monsieur Ockley his present." 

Maurice watched Belle pick up a small stack of books, tied in a piece of deep blue velvet, off of an empty shelf where she had placed it. "Have a nice time," he told her almost sternly. 

Belle knew what he was really trying to say, and she gave him a quick one-armed hug. "I'll see you later, Papa," she told him, and headed into the heart of the village. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"And we're _so_ happy for you. Aren't we, Bertram?" 

The baker wasn't paying attention. 

"_Aren't we_, Bertram?" snapped his wife, poking him sharply in the side. 

Bertram looked around wildly. "What? Wh - Oh. Oh, yes, dear. Of course." 

Belle smiled and excused herself politely, aware of the way Madame and Monsieur Boulanger stared after her as she walked away. It had been like this ever since she had left the cottage: villagers dropping what they were doing to, one by one or in pairs, approach her and tell her how happy they were for her good fortune. Most of the villagers had always been pleasant, or at least, cordial, to her, but Belle knew that today the pleasantness felt a little forced. She tried not to let it make her uncomfortable as she continued in the direction of the bookshop. 

A chorus of pert "Bonjour, Belle!" made her turn in surprise as the Fourreur triplets flocked to her side, big fake-looking smiles on their three porcelain faces. 

"Bonjour Pamela. Chloe. Monette." She had no problem keeping them apart. "Isn't it a nice day?" Belle opted to remain stoically pleasant. 

"Oh, _yes_," gushed Pamela, clasping her hands together and smiling harder. "It's _lovely_," added Chloe. 

'The crops could use some rain," Monette put in brightly. The other two glared momentarily at her, then Pamela turned back to Belle. 

"We're _so_ jealous of you," she beamed, stepping forward and taking Belle's free hand (her other arm was still cradling the bundle). "Becoming a Princess, going to live in a big castle..." 

Chloe bobbed her head. "We can't _wait_ for the Ball! Oh, I'm going to need a new dress, and shoes..." 

"Belle!" Monette squealed as the three closed in all around. "Are there going to be a lot of handsome noblemen there? Oh please, please say there will!" 

Belle rescued her hand from Pamela and took a step backwards. "Oh, Monette, I don't know!" she laughed. "It will be my first Ball too. The only people I've met so far are Christophe's servants." 

The triplets all wrinkled their noses at the very notion of meeting a servant. "Oh," said Pamela, a little hollowly. "Well, congratulations, Belle!" she squealed as all three smiled once more. 

"Thank you," said Belle a little humbly, turning to go. "I'll see you at the Ball. I'm glad you're coming." 

"We'll be there," responded Chloe, and they all waved. "Goodbye!" they chorused. Belle didn't see their smiles melt like hot wax the moment she turned her back. 

Belle crossed the town square, a little more cheerful. Everybody really is just trying to be friendly, she told herself silently, swinging the bundle with one hand as she walked. They're just a little…overwhelmed. Like me. They have no idea how overwhelmed I am! she thought, her smile broadening. Her spirits lifted further as she laughed inwardly at herself. I shouldn't be worried about what the villagers think, I'm the one whose life is changing. She felt a little foolish for being so preoccupied with how everyone else felt. Besides, they seemed to be glad enough. 

She stopped in her tracks suddenly as she realised where she was. She was right outside the tavern. It took her a moment to figure out what had made her stop and then she found it: the sign reading "Ye Pub" had been taken down, and all the shutters were closed. And, it was quiet in there. By this time of the day there would usually be at least a few people inside, but it was apparent that it was empty. Belle stood there thoughtfully, absently stroking the velvet cloth tied around the books. She knew it was likely that the tavern was closed because Gaston was gone. 

The night that the enchantment on the castle was broken - and that Gaston had fallen to his death - was five days in the past now. At Belle's urging Christophe had sent a party of men out to search for Gaston's body but it was not found. Considering the location of the parapet from which he had fallen, though, that wasn't entirely a surprise; after all, it was near enough to the river that Gaston might have tumbled into it. Considering the recent spring runoffs, the river flowed high and wild, and the body had likely enough been swept away. Falling into the river wouldn't have saved his life whether the water was high or not: that part of the river was shallow, the current swift, and its course strewn with boulders and craggy rocks. Body or no body, there was no disputing that Gaston was dead. 

Belle gazed at the tavern. Monsieur Ockley had told her once that it had once been LeFou's house, that he and Gaston had done some renovating and now it was a tavern and that LeFou still lived there in one of the remaining rooms. Belle had a sudden urge to tell LeFou that she was sorry Gaston was dead. She didn't like LeFou, she didn't respect him, but as Gaston had no kin, talking to him would be the closest thing to speaking with a relation. She had greatly disliked Gaston (Belle didn't like to admit to herself that she could hate anyone) but she did feel some sorrow over his demise. She was sorry he was dead. 

Before she knew what she was doing Belle was knocking on the door. "LeFou?" she called towards the nearest shuttered window. There were no answering footsteps, and Belle realised that with all the shutters closed she should have known he probably wasn't home. But as she removed her hand from the door, she saw it give slightly. It hadn't been shut all the way. The tavern was always kept locked when closed (the kegs had a way of "mysteriously" running dry otherwise), and so, assuming someone was in fact inside, Belle pushed the door open. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"Hello?" Belle stepped into the taproom, absently setting her bundle down on the bar as she looked around. The open door let in some light, but with the shutters closed the room was fairly dark. It was enough to see by, though, and Belle gazed around. 

She had only ever been in the tavern once, less than three years ago, soon after she and Maurice had moved to Molyneaux from Chaffee hoping to start a new life after her mother had passed away. It was in the tavern that she had met Gaston for the very first time, and he had instantly rubbed her the wrong way. All the animal trophies he had decorated the place with (there are more now, she noticed) had disturbed Belle, and she never returned to the tavern again after that day. Killing an animal for food, for clothing, to make useful items from their bodies was perfectly acceptable to Belle; she had nothing against hunters who were only doing what they had to do to help themselves and others. But to preserve a poor slain animal's head and stick it up on the wall to be stared at for amusement frankly put a knot in Belle's stomach. Gaston's tales of how he killed each animal saddened and sickened her, as did the way the other townspeople cheered him on for it. 

Belle walked slowly about the room. She didn't know if there were normally sheets over everything during non-operating hours or if they had been put there because the place had been closed permanently. Sheets covered the tables, the shelves of mugs - even Gaston's chair, made horribly (Belle had thought) entirely out of animal parts. The bearskin rug the chair normally dominated had been rolled up, and Belle spotted it shoved against a side wall. She remembered being particularly disgusted with the bearskin; Gaston had told her that he had wanted it stuffed intact but its underside was so mutilated that the taxidermist was unable to do anything with it but make a rug. Whole pieces had been missing, Gaston had told her proudly. Recalling the gleam in his eye when he had said that, Belle shuddered. 

Leaning on the wall behind the rolled-up rug was the painting of Gaston that had hung over the fireplace. It too was covered with a sheet, but only partially. Belle approached it and gingerly lifted a corner of the cloth to peek at the portrait. 

She dropped the sheet suddenly when a door behind the bar opened and LeFou's silhouette stepped into the semidarkness of the taproom. He ducked out of sight behind the bar and rummaged around with something and Belle knew he hadn't seen her. She stood up straight and took a step in his direction as he reappeared, holding a borer used to make holes in kegs so taps could be inserted. He spotted her then, as she stood in the shaft of light coming from the open door. He blinked a few times then stared at her in silent surprise. 

Belle had to squirm a little; she had after all entered the tavern - his home? - without permission, and she quickly put on a warm smile, clasping her hands behind her as if to say, I wasn't touching anything. "Hello LeFou," she greeted him. "I - My father and I were in the village, and I was…I was walking by…" 

While she was speaking, LeFou, still staring at her, sidestepped around Belle and placed himself so he was facing her with the painting at his back. As Belle trailed off awkwardly he cast one glance behind him before asking her, "Why are you here?" 

Belle unclasped her hands and re-clasped them in front of her. "Well, I wanted to - " 

At once LeFou narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here?" he blurted, stepping towards her. Belle noticed he was gripping the borer tightly and instinctively retreated. 

"I just wanted - " Belle trailed off again. What _did_ she want? What did she think she was going to say? I might never have liked Gaston, but I'm sorry he's dead, you _will_ come to the Ball, won't you? 

"What _do_ you want?" LeFou demanded, continuing his advance. Belle noticed she was being herded backwards towards the front door. "Do you have something to say to me? _Say_ it." 

As she passed the bar Belle reached out with her left hand to fumblingly retrieve her stack of books. She hugged it close. He was angry. She wished he weren't. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry for everything that happened." There was a pressure in her chest. 

"Sorry for what?" LeFou snapped. He held the borer out at arm's length as he continued to stalk forward. "Sorry you've gone to live in a castle and marry a Prince? Isn't that what you've always wanted? To be better than everyone else? Or have you even noticed the difference?" 

Belle stumbled backwards through the doorway into bright sunlight and suddenly they were both in the square. She was aware that there was a crowd gathered and wondered if they had been following her all day, and had been waiting for her outside the tavern since she went in. 

Something possessed Belle and she shrieked out, louder than she had intended: "I'm _not_ better than everyone else!" Suddenly she lost her footing and landed, hard, on her backside on the cobbled street. The bundle of books tumbled out of her grasp and came to a rest a few feet away. Belle sat there, not aware of the pain in her tailbone and the heels of her hands as LeFou stopped in front of her. She stared at him, as everyone else stared at her. 

LeFou was positively exuding fury. "Don't give me that!" he shouted back, his knuckles white. "All you've ever done is parade around here with your nose in the clouds, always reading some book and looking down on everyone! You've always acted like you thought you were better!" He clenched his teeth and brandished the borer at Belle as if warding her off. "Don't you ever set foot in my house again!" he ordered her. "You _don't_ belong here, and you never did! Everything that's happened is _your_ fault! A man is dead because of _you!_ But you go on to your stupid Ball and pretend like nothing happened. I hope you rot." As he spat out the last words LeFou turned on his heel, skulked into the tavern, and slammed the door so violently that the shutters vibrated. 

Belle was petrified with horror. She stared at the door for a few moments, then slowly turned her head to take in the crowd, still standing in a circle around her where she half-lay on the cobblestones. After about a minute of uneasy silence she got slowly to her feet. 

"Is that what everyone thinks? That I think I'm better than you? That I'm responsible for Gaston's death? _Is that what you all think?_" Her voice shook, but her jaw was set; no tears had come to her eyes. She shot glances at every face, seeing embarrassment, pity, and on a few, contempt. At a disgusted "Hmpf," she looked around at the Fourreur triplets, who were pouting at her, faces reddened, with their arms crossed. Suddenly Monette spat out, "You could have at least saved him for someone else if you didn't want him!" 

At that all three women burst into tears and fled the square. Belle felt the atmosphere get significantly frostier. 

Suddenly she couldn't stand it any more. Putting her hands over her face, she whirled and bolted for the bookstore. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"There there, now, drink this tea - it will make you feel better." 

Belle did not take the cup Monsieur Ockley offered her. She briefly mused that Mrs. Potts and the old bookseller had a little something in common. 

"No thank you," she whispered. 

The shopkeeper sighed, set the cup down on an endtable, and sat beside Belle on the chaise. "Belle," he said softly. "You know there are at least _some_ people in this town who like you." He cleared his throat and winked at her. 

Belle knew he was referring to himself. "Oh I know _you_ like me…" She sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. 

"You know, you shouldn't spend all your time worrying about what others think of you. It's a very bad habit to get into." 

"You sound like my father." Belle picked up her tea and drank a little. "But…I think LeFou was right. I never did belong here." 

At that Monsieur Ockley frowned, and he took off his spectacles to polish them with his handkerchief. "It's not a good idea to believe you don't belong somewhere," he admonished. "Remember, belief - " 

"- Begets truth," Belle finished for him, smiling a little. "You told me that years ago. I've always liked that phrase." She set the teacup back down. "I know you're right," she said quietly. "But I can't help believing it a little." 

The bookseller was silent for a moment as he replaced his spectacles. "You know, Belle," he said at length, "people who wish to better themselves through books, and deep thinking…" 

"You mean like you and me?" Belle prodded slyly, her smile growing. 

Monsieur Ockley gave her faintly amused look. "Yes, that is what I was getting at," he admitted. "Anyway, we really are at more of a disadvantage than we might think at times." 

"What do you mean?" 

"What I mean is, that sometimes, while we are so busy bettering ourselves, we forget that there are other people around us with different things to do, that are just as important to them as bettering oneself is to us. Do you understand what I am saying, Belle?" 

Belle looked down at her lap. "I think so," she replied slowly. "He _was_ right, then, at least about that. I _have_ acted like I was superior to everyone else. I haven't meant to," she blurted defensively, seeking Monsieur Ockley's eyes. 

The bookseller shook his head gently. "Of course you haven't," he assured her. "Everyone is different, Belle. It's understanding that…well, that's the key. You see?" 

Belle smiled again. "Yes," she replied. 

"Good." Monsieur Ockley patted her hand. "Now, don't you mind young Ignatius," he told her. "He was a spitting ball of fury when he lost his father, too. Then Gaston arrived and gave him a new hero to adulate. Who knows, maybe someone else will come along and do the same. Drink your tea, now, go on. It's no good cold, you know." 

Belle drank obediently. 

A bell tinkled as someone opened the shop door. It was Maurice. "Belle, there you are," he breathed with relief. "I thought you might be here but I was worried that…" He trailed off and held out the velvet-wrapped bundle as he came in the rest of the way. "You dropped this in the square," he finished. 

"Oh, Papa!" Belle sprang up, cup still in hand, and took the bundle. "It completely slipped my mind." She turned to the shopkeeper. "Monsieur, I brought these for you. They're from the Palace Library; Christophe wanted you to have them, after I told him about you." 

Greatly pleased, the bookseller came forward and took the bundle from Belle. "Why Belle, I'm honored," he said. Placing the bundle on a table, he untied the knot at the top, letting the velvet cloth open. "_Thank_ you," he beamed, running his hands along the stack of books, and then picking up the top one. Opening it, he smiled at the contents. "And please thank your Prince for me as well. These are splendid indeed." 

"I'm glad you like them. I read them over the winter, and I thought you would enjoy them." 

"I'm sure I shall." 

A few minutes later, after some warm goodbyes, Maurice stepped outside, holding the door open for his daughter. As Belle moved to follow, she paused and turned back. 

"Oh and, Monsieur," she said, raising an eyebrow and trying to appear very serious, "don't enjoy those books _too_ much. You wouldn't want people to misunderstand your intentions." 

Monsieur Ockley nodded gravely, suppressing a smile. "I will make it my duty, Mademoiselle." 


	3. Whoever Dies With the Most Beer Wins

These Provincial Lives  
a Disney's Beauty and and Beast Fanfic  
by  
C. "Sparky" Read  
_Part III:_  
**"Whoever Dies With the Most Beer Wins"**

"Goddamnit LeFou, step aside!" 

LeFou didn't budge. "I'm not moving from this spot!" he declared. "You're all out of your minds! Now back off before I…I…" 

"You'll _what?_" Denis thrust his face into the short man's. 

LeFou flinched back, but didn't relinquish his post. "Aw, c'mon fellas," he whined nervously. "I'm sure all of this can be worked out." 

"We'll work it out," put in Nicodeus, the old butcher, approaching a step or two, "after you move your keister from that doorway!" The other men crowded forward, grumbling agreement. 

LeFou's eyes widened in horror as the mob advanced on him. Bodily harm was imminent. He fumbled with the handle of the door his back was pressed up against and opened it, stumbling back a step into Gaston's house. 

When he'd heard the village men plotting earlier that day to raid Gaston's home and sort through his belongings, LeFou had felt it his duty to try and fend them off. What right did they have to paw through the personal effects of a dead man, taking what they wanted and fighting over the choicest bits like starving jackals? Just because Gaston had no family who could lay claim to any of his belongings didn't give the whole town the right to swarm over his house like they owned it. 

"Get back," wavered LeFou as the men crowded the porch. "I'm warning you." 

Bertram snorted like an annoyed ox. "Yeah right," he sneered. 

A quick glance to his left and LeFou spotted something useful leaning on the wall just inside the foyer. He snatched it and all of a sudden the village men saw themselves staring into the wide barrel of a blunderbuss. "I _said_ get back." 

The men backed off at once. As a general rule none of them held much respect for LeFou, although the scene in the town square with Belle two days ago had been…interesting. They still hadn't expected to be threatened with a weapon. 

"All right, take it easy, LeFou," said Bertram. "There's no need for that. Put the gun down, and we'll go discuss this over a nice friendly drink." 

"Like fun we will." LeFou jabbed the blunderbuss towards the men. "Now get off this porch before I - " 

At that moment Denis brashly jumped forward, reaching for the gun. LeFou inadvertently squeezed the trigger. It had all been a bluff, of course, he never would have shot a man - and the fact was, he had no way of knowing if the gun was even loaded. 

However, it was Gaston's gun, after all. A portion of the porch roof exploded over Denis' head, showering the blacksmith with splintered wood and small chunks of brick. Denis flung up his arms to protect himself and swore loudly. The other men - LeFou included, jumped in shock and surprise. 

LeFou stood there frozen, staring down at the now-empty blunderbuss in his hands. Denis, his face beet-red, stomped up to him and snatched the weapon away, flinging it into the bushes beside the porch. Without a word (nothing intelligible, anyways), the mob surged forward and laid hands on LeFou, hauling him into the street for a sound pummeling. 

But after only a few solid punches, the men froze as a stern voice commanded: 

"Release that man at once! I've a good mind to report you to the Prince for uncalled-for public brutality! I'll have the lot of you hauled off to gaol! Comply or be arrested!" 

LeFou was dropped with a thud to the pavement as the men stepped away from him, taking in the sight of the stranger, and his so-far silent companion. The blue-and-gold uniforms and official-looking badges were enough to instill the fear of gaol into the hearts of the villagers, and they backed off. 

"Get on home, you louts," commanded the second man, who was younger-looking than the first. "I'm sure your wives can think of a million more productive things you could be doing with your time." 

The mob dispersed quickly, though grudgingly, and the uniformed men approached LeFou, who was just now picking himself up off the ground. 

The younger man reached down to help him. "On your feet, then," he said genially. "Sorry we didn't come 'round sooner; looks like they did a number on you." 

"Oh that was nothing," replied LeFou, straightening his collar. He squinted up at the two men, whom he had already met. "Sight-seeing?" he queried casually, as if he weren't standing in the middle of the street battered and bruised, with the beginnings of a black eye beginning to show. 

"In a way," answered the older man, whose name was Bernaud. "It's been many years since we've been to Molyneaux. But perhaps we should step inside somewhere before we carry on this conversation further; we seem to have an audience." 

Indeed every shutter on the street was opened a crack to reveal slivers of curious faces. 

"Right-o," agreed Bain, the younger man. "You should get something to put on that shiner there, and I could do with a drop of something. As I seem to recall from my last visit, there used to be a brewhouse roundabout here somewhere." 

LeFou raised an eyebrow. "That's right, you don't know," he said. "It's a full-blown pub now. Er, it's sort of closed for business, but - " a knowing grin - "I think I can get us in. It's this way." After excusing himself to lock Gaston's door with one of the keys on a set he carried in his pocket, he started leading the archers towards the town square. 

"Say chap," remarked Bain after but a moment. "What with…our last conversation and all…well, forgive me, but we never did get your name." 

LeFou paused while fishing out his keys - they had already reached his front door (all the most extravagant homes in the village, including LeFou's and Gaston's, were situated in the vicinity of the town square) - to barely glance over his shoulder. "LeFou," he said, unlocking the door. 

Bernaud brightened at once. "Of course - why didn't I see it before? You're Ol' Harbin's boy, aren't you? Outstanding man, your father." The archers followed LeFou inside, and the latter closed the door behind them. "Brewed the finest ales in the Principality." 

LeFou was pleased with the praise. "That's what they used to say." He threw open a pair of shutters to illuminate the darkened room. 

Bain gazed about the taproom. "Well!" he remarked in surprise. "This used to be a sitting room…a parlour…and a den. What did you do, knock down some walls?" 

LeFou led the men to the one table in the room not covered over with a sheet, and pulled out two chairs. "You forgot the pantry and my mother's sewing room, and yes. It was Gaston's idea. He said it was throwing away money to cram a few people into a den and only accept donations for drinks when you could have a big tavern and just charge people for them." He headed for the bar. 

Bain and Bernaud took in their surroundings. "I don't recall Ol' Harbin being such a sportsman," remarked Bernaud, peering at all the animal trophies. 

LeFou had pulled two mugs from under a sheet, thrown back the sheet covering a keg, and filled the vessels one-handed with practised ease. "Those are Gaston's." 

Bain blinked in surprise at the exposed keg, and realised that the other two sheet-covered lumps beside it were also kegs. "If this place is closed for business," he began as LeFou delivered the ales to the table, "then what on God's Green Earth are three full kegs doing in here? Shouldn't you at least stay open until they're empty?" 

LeFou pulled a face as he went to fetch a drink for himself. "This place just won't work without Gaston," he stated matter-of-factly, returning to the table and taking a seat. "He was the whole reason people came." 

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Bernaud. "Why, people used to come from leagues away to sample Ol' Harbin's ales." 

LeFou took a drink. "This is beer, shipped in from Aglionby," he said. 

"But wh - " Bernaud silenced himself. "Oh," he said. "Your father's no longer here, is he?" 

"No sir." 

"I'm sorry to hear that." The older man pulled his mug towards himself. "Harbin LeFou was one of the finest men I had ever known, and that's saying something." He took a large gulp of beer, and frowned at it. "No, not your father's," he confirmed sadly. 

"I'm sorry to hear it too," said Bain. 

LeFou _hmphed_ a little into his beer. "Now I _have_ to believe that you've been stuck as enchanted objects for the past ten years. Anyone else would have already heard the story about...what happened to my father." 

"What did - " Bain started, but Bernaud silenced him with a look. "Another time, I'm sure," admonished the older man gravely. 

Bain quickly changed the subject. "I am surprised that you've been importing beer rather than making it yourself," he said. "Your father was apprenticing you. In fact I recall one instance when I stumbled upon him in the street, bragging to anyone who would listen how his six-year-old had just brewed his first keg of hydromel." 

LeFou chuckled. "Yeah, I kinda remember that. He went on about it for weeks. He drank it all by himself - because it was so awful no one else would touch it." 

He looked so retrospective all of a sudden that Bernaud took it upon himself to change the subject this time. "It seems a shame," he said loudly, "to let three perfectly good kegs of beer go to waste." He looked pointedly at Bain, who caught on quickly. 

"Oh yes," agreed Bain sagely. "A great pity. If only there was a large group of people willing to buy it all." 

LeFou blinked confusedly between the archers. 

"Say," grinned Bernaud, "I believe _I_ can think of somebody." 

LeFou finally gathered his wits. "Perhaps," he said, going to fetch a second round, "we should discuss this over a nice friendly drink." 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"Hell's bells!" exclaimed Denis, gaping. "What the bloody blue heck is going on in there?" 

"It's getting louder," remarked Bertram in awe. 

"Well someone should put a stop to it," snapped Nicodeus irritably. "It sounds like they're…like they're…" 

"Having fun," supplied Bertram helpfully. 

"That isn't fair!" argued Nicodeus. "That's _our_ tavern!" 

Sometime after dark a number of shadowy cloaked horsemen had rode into town, headed straight for the tavern after leaving their horses at the village's public stables, and slipped inside. Soon after, the unmistakable noises of men clinking mugs and generally having a rollicking good time could be heard. The village men had gathered outside to stare at the pub, brightly-lit although tightly shuttered, so it was impossible to peer inside. 

"Someone needs to put a stop to this," Denis grumbled. Bertram brightened. "Look!" he exclaimed, pointing. "Here comes the Prince's Royal Guard!" 

Indeed, several men in blue-and-gold uniforms were striding towards the tavern. 

"Finally," snorted Nicodeus. "Now we'll see some justice done." 

The soldiers reached the tavern's front door and one of them knocked. They were quickly ushered in and greeted by a renewed burst of cheering before the door slammed shut again and the bolt drawn. 

Denis fumed. "That's it!" He marched up to the door, the men following closely behind, and pounded on it with the side of his fist. 

"Open up, LeFou!" the blacksmith shouted. "Let us in!" 

After a moment the door did open, but it was not LeFou standing there. It was Bain. 

"Do you have an appointment?" drawled the archer. 

"Let us in there!" blurted Denis. "This is _our_ pub!" The men could now see that the place was filled to capacity with men in blue-and-gold uniforms. 

Bain stood on tiptoes to gaze casually out over the villagers, then looked over his shoulder into the tavern. "I'm sorry," he said, "but we seem to be full." 

"Full?" spluttered Nicodeus. "What do you mean, 'full'?" 

Bain reached up and pulled down a sign that had been hung over the inside of the door, and held it up. It read, MAX. OCCUPANCY: 61. "I'm sorry, fellows," said Bain. "But you don't want to create a fire hazard, do you?" 

While the villagers blinked at one another in incredulity, three more Palace Guards showed up. Bain greeted them and let them squeeze past. 

"Hey!" protested Bertram. "That's sixty-four!" 

"Huh?" said Bain. "Oh! " He pulled a dagger from his belt and made two slashmarks on the sign, turning the one into a four. "Thanks, I would have missed that. Have a good evening, gentlemen." Flashing them all a cordial smile, he shut and bolted the door. 

The cheering inside grew louder, and the villagers turned away from the tavern dejectedly. "Darnit," said Nicodeus at length. "We messed up, didn't we?" 

"Yeah, well, you know what they say," sighed Bertram. 

"What's that?" 

"Whoever has the beer makes the rules." 


	4. Let's Get This Ball Rolling

These Provincial Lives  
a Disney's Beauty and and Beast Fanfic  
by  
C. "Sparky" Read  
_Part IV:_  
**"Let's Get This Ball Rolling"**

Belle was furious. "How could you be so petty?" she demanded, hands on hips, stomping a foot ever so slightly. "You have no right to do this! It isn't your concern!" 

"Belle, you will be my wife," Christophe argued, pacing the drawing room like a caged lion. "It _is_ the concern of the Prince when somebody assaults she who will be Princess! I still insist that you should have informed me of this incident the moment it occurred! I had to hear it from a stableboy!" He threw his arms wide. "A _stableboy_, Belle!" 

Belle stalked over to the window, arms crossed. "He did not assault me, Christophe," she parried. "There was no incident. Now, please, let it be." 

"I _won't_. Cogsworth! Where is that man..! _Cogs_ - " 

"I'm here, Sire," wheezed the portly Head of the Household, appearing suddenly in the doorway. "What is your wish?" 

"Christophe, _don't_." 

The Prince ignored Belle's warning. "Cogsworth," he began firmly, "send a party of guards down to Molyneaux. There's a man there I want arrested at once." 

"Ar...rested? Oh, yes Sire, as you command. What is his name?" 

"LeFou," answered Christophe as Belle turned away regretfully. "Ignatius LeFou, I believe it is. For…for crimes against the Crown. Do it!" he ordered when Cogsworth hesitated. The Head of the Household scurried away obediently. 

"I hope you're happy," murmured Belle, gazing out the window at the East Courtyard. "Arresting a man on the day of our Goodwill Ball." 

Christophe took a breath. "Belle," he said gently, stepping up behind her. "I had to do that. You must believe me." 

"Why?" Belle still didn't turn around. "Why must you throw a man in gaol just for speaking his mind?" 

"Belle, you were _so_ upset that day! At last I know the person responsible. How would it be if a Prince did not discipline his people for subordination?" 

"You could show a little mercy." 

Christophe put a hand on Belle's shoulder and squeezed slightly. "Mercy has its place but it can be…overindulged in," he replied, thinking of the last time he had shown mercy, to someone who then tried to murder him in cold blood. "Let me make an example of this man." 

Belle exhaled. "That man just lost his best friend," she informed the Prince. "He was angry." She turned around at last. "Please pardon him, Christophe. This is foolishness." 

Christophe's face had begun to soften at Belle's first words, but it hardened at her last. "Perhaps you are right," he said coldly, removing his hand. "After all, from what I've heard, it sounds like this LeFou character can't do anything unless his master gives him a command, and there's no possibility of that now, is there? Unless perhaps he thrusts his head into the river." 

There was a blur; and suddenly Christophe was left standing there in surprise, a red mark on one cheek and Belle storming out of the drawing room in a passion. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"This is not good. This is not good at all. This is dreadful. No, it's worse than dreadful! It - _how can you stand there so calmly?_" Cogsworth barked at his companion, who was humming a cheerful tune as he smoothed his cravat. "This Ball is going up in flames!" 

Lumiere, at last satisfied that his appearance was no less than pristine, glanced casually over at the harried man beside him. "Do not worry, my old friend," he smiled. "Everyone is having a splendid time. It is a lovely turnout, and a very fine Ball." 

"Oh, certainly, the _guests_ suspect nothing. _Yet_." Cogsworth pouted in aggravation. "But what happens when they realise that the hosts _are not speaking with one another?_" He made a sweeping motion with his arm, indicating first Prince Christophe, who was stiffly greeting guests at one end of the ballroom; and then Belle, who was standing, a bit petulantly, near the far wall. 

"I tell you again, do not worry," repeated Lumiere, rocking on his heels. "Everything will work out. They are in love." And, as if that was the answer to the Great Cosmic Question itself, Lumiere flitted off to mingle with the crowd, leaving Cogsworth behind to wring his hands and seethe. 

It was, as Lumiere had said, a lovely turnout. Belle certainly had not expected so many people to attend. She did not know if word would travel to the far reaches of the Principality in time for people to make the journey, but apparently it had. There were people there from small villages, like Molyneaux, as well as from cities - such as Aglionby, and even far-off Chaffee, where Belle had been born and raised until she and her father had moved to the country to escape city life. 

Belle searched the room. Yes, there were many people from her own little village there; she recognised them at once. She was glad they had come, she would have hated to think that an entire town would ostracise itself from her out of stubbornness, or worse, shame. 

"Be - Misstr - M'la - Er...Belle," stammered Cogsworth, appearing at her elbow. She knew he didn't like calling her merely Belle now that she was engaged to be Princess; but mere engagement did not grant her a title, and so she insisted on being called, simply, Belle at least for the time being. After all, Royal Engagement could last as long as a year, and that was a long time to spend not knowing what to call a person. She smiled at him. "Yes, Cogsworth," she replied gently. He seemed worked up over something. 

Cogsworth leaned in closer. "Belle," he hissed conspiratorially. "Can you not at least _pretend_ to be friendly with the Master? We wouldn't want the guests to become...er, concerned, now would we?" 

Belle frowned. "I'm not sure that - " 

"Excellent, excellent," urged Cogsworth, pretending not to hear her protest as he nudged her firmly in the direction of the Prince. 

As Belle resignedly made her way across the Ballroom, courteously welcoming the guests and graciously accepting their congratulations, she spotted Christophe on his way towards her, doing the same. Squaring their shoulders, they met in the center of the room, not meeting each other's eyes. 

"Cogsworth, um…sent me over," mumbled Christophe. 

That made Belle smile. "Me too," she admitted. "Christophe, I'm sorry I was angry with you earlier," she said simply. "But I felt you were being unjust, and I had to say something." 

"I am sorry too," replied the Prince, and their eyes met as he took her hands. "I…guess I'm just not used to being disagreed with. I was being childish. I think you're going to have your hands full with me." He grinned impishly at her, and she had to grin back. 

"Well, no harm was done, right?" said Belle. "You did cancel the arrest." 

Christophe was silent, and Belle jerked her hands away, hurt. "Christophe!" she gasped. "You mean you still had him arrested? How could you?" Deeply disappointed, she turned and wove her way through the crowd. 

Like magic, Cogsworth was at Christophe's side. "Sire?" he prompted, trying not to sound panicked. "She's walking away again." 

Christophe rubbed his forehead. "I think I did something stupid, Cogsworth," he muttered. "I don't get it! I was only trying to rule with a firm but gentle hand - like Mrs. Potts said." He sighed. "I guess I'm just still new to this love thing." 

Cogsworth patted the Prince's arm reassuringly. "There, now," he said soothingly. "Do you need another 'talk'? Shall I get Lumiere for you?" 

"No." Christophe tugged at the hem of his coat. "I am going to the gaol to fix this." 

Cogsworth blanched. "But _Sire!_" he gasped, horrorstruck. "You cannot leave the Ball now! You are the ho - My word, did you say you were going to the _gaol?_ Er - Sire? Sire!" But Christophe had already stridden off, making a beeline for the exit. 

Mrs. Potts happened by. "Isn't this a _marvelous_ Ball?" she commented cheerfully to the Head of the Household, who was standing there ashen. 

"It's like a Pit of Neverending Torture," he croaked, wandering away. 

Mrs. Potts shrugged good-naturedly. "Well, to each his own." 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"...And you're _so_ lovely, dear," concluded the elderly fisherman, patting Belle's hand. 

Belle smiled demurely, flattered by the kindly old gentleman's praise. "Merci, Monsieur," she curtseyed. "I am honored you came all the way from Danvers to attend the Ball. That's a very long way." 

Danvers was a tiny fishing village located downstream at a distance of at least a four or five days' journey. 

"It was well worth it, _cherie_. The best of luck to you," added the fisherman, before melting into the crowd. 

"Well, _there_ you are." 

Belle turned at her father's voice. "Hello, Papa. Having a nice time?" 

"Splendid, Belle. And how are things with you and your handsome Prince?" 

A sigh and a noncommittal mutter. 

"Ah," nodded Maurice in understanding. "That well." 

"Oh Papa," Belle sighed again. "I'm in love with Christophe. I really am. But sometimes he can be so stubborn…I just don't know what to do with him." 

Maurice's eyes twinkled. "I'm sure if anyone can handle young Christophe, it's you," he assured his daughter. 

Belle shrugged. "Well, we all have adjustments to make," she had to admit. "I'm far from perfect myself, after all." 

"You remembered our little lesson, I see." It was Monsieur Ockley. He strode up to the pair, smiling. "Bonsoir, Maurice. Enchante, Belle." 

"Bonsoir Monsieur." Belle returned the smile. "I am very glad you came." 

"Did you think I would miss all this?" chuckled the bookseller, nodding over his shoulder at the assemblage. "So," he said to Belle, "have you met the local nobles yet?" 

"Not yet," Belle replied. "They've been a little…occupied." She motioned over to the far end of the Ballroom, where a large number of richly dressed ladies and gentlemen were congregated. The Fourreur triplets, dressed to the nines, were keeping themselves busy herding the nobles about the room like three border collies protecting a flock of sheep. "Chloe, Pamela, and Monette have monopolised them for the evening." 

"So," said Maurice, changing the subject, "how are things down in the village?" 

"Oh, fine," replied Monsieur Ockley. "I found new farms for all your livestock, like you asked me to." 

"Very good." 

"And," continued the shopkeeper after a pause, "there was quite a commotion in the town square this morning." 

Belle groaned inwardly. 

"Seems young Ignatius has gone and gotten himself arrested." 

Maurice was stunned. "Arrested? My goodness. For wha - " He stopped short and both men looked at Belle. 

"_I_ didn't do it!" she insisted. 

"Of course you didn't," said Maurice quickly. Then he nodded slowly. "Is this what's gotten you so upset tonight?" 

"Yes, Papa," said Belle again, shrugging. Then she straightened up. "Well if Christophe won't do something about this, I'll have to do it myself. I guess I can consider it an exercise in diplomacy. Excuse me, please." She started for the main door. 

She was neatly intercepted by Cogsworth, who seemed to have gone a funny color. "_Belle_," he greeted her with his teeth clenched. "What are you doing? Why are you walking towards the door? Where are you headed?" 

Belle was tempted to tell the stout man that she was going to go powder her nose but decided now was not the time to start lying to people. "I'm going to gaol," she said, brushing past. 

If this had not already happened once in the past half-hour, Cogsworth might have been rooted to the spot like a petrified tree. Instead, he fell into step behind Belle as she walked out of the room. "You see, Belle," he said with a forced chuckle, "it is not customary for the hosts of a Grand Ball to abandon said Ball in favor of..._gaol_," he strangled on the word. 

Belle swept down the stairs. "I have to do what's right, Cogsworth." 

"It happens to be my _job_," replied Cogsworth, hustling to keep up with her, "to tell certain people what is right and as you are preparing to become the Princess of this land, might I point out that you are one of those people. Belle! Belle, your _shoes!_" 

By now Belle was hurrying across the wet lawn of the North Courtyard. "Cogsworth," she said. 

"Er…yes Belle?" 

She gave him a stern look. He took the hint and fell silent, but did not stop following her. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

The two guards outside the gaol gave each other an "Uh-oh" look as their future Princess bustled past them without a word or glance dressed in Ballroom finery. Cogsworth paused in the entryway long enough to hiss, "Not a _word_ about this!" before following her inside. He almost ran into her a few yards in, where she had paused. 

"What is that?" Belle wondered aloud. 

Cogsworth listened. "Why, it sounds like a...a...public house! Outrageous! What sort of gaol is this?" They both moved forward cautiously. 

The unmistakable sounds of men shouting and laughing echoed through the entry hall of the gaol as the pair ventured farther inside. Cogsworth clucked. "The Prince will be _furious_ when he hears about - " 

"Sh!" hissed Belle, stopping outside an oaken door. 

"Chug! Chug! Chug!" chanted a crowd of male voices. Belle pushed the door open in time to see Christophe drain the dregs of a huge mug, foam dripping all over his blue velvet coat. The whole room cheered. 

"_Sire!_" Cogsworth was livid. "What is the _meaning_ of this?" 

Christophe, who was sitting on a bench surrounded by Palace Guards, froze with the mug still at his lips, looking tremendously guilty. Beside him sat LeFou, who sported a similar expression. Several small kegs littered the room and everything smelled of strong beer. 

Belle took a tentative step into the chamber. "...Christophe?" she prompted, her voice a mixture of wonder and amusement. 

The Prince lowered the mug as everyone else who was sitting scrambled to their feet. "Um," he said intelligently. "I." With that lengthy monologue off his chest he handed the mug to LeFou and stood up. "Don't be angry, Belle," he pleaded. 

Belle shook her head, putting one hand on her hip and using the other to cover her growing smile. "I'm not the one you should say that to," she responded, nodding at Cogsworth. 

"_Has everyone gone mad?_" howled the Head of the Household, who was actually visually trembling with fury. "You," he pointed at Christophe, "and you," he pointed at Belle, " - back to the Ballroom! And the rest of you: you should all be ashamed of yourselves! Turning a Royal Gaol into a common hostelry! And - who is _that?_" he demanded, gesturing at LeFou, who hastily hid the mug he was still holding behind himself as if it were incriminating evidence against him. 

"Um," said a guard hesitantly. "Our...prisoner?" 

Cogsworth's jaw dropped. "Really, I - " Suddenly he frowned at LeFou. "I remember you," he resumed, eyes widening. "You were the one who tried to melt Lumiere!" 

LeFou blinked in confusion at Cogsworth for a moment, then his own eyes went wide. "Hey!" he exclaimed, unconsciously covering his posterior with both hands. "Are you the one who - " 

"Cogsworth," said Christophe quickly, "perhaps you should get back to the Ballroom." 

"Yes Cogsworth," chimed in Belle. "They might be running low on canapes." 

Too horrified to even respond verbally, Cogsworth was off like a shot. 

Belle stepped forward then. "LeFou," she began, trying to catch the short man's eye, for he wouldn't look at her, "I am so sorry about this. I didn't mean for you to be arrested." 

Christophe coughed. "If but all stays in gaol were such," he murmured. Belle shot him a look, and he threw his arms wide. "I apologised, Belle," he said. "It's why I came down here." 

"He did apologise," LeFou spoke at last. "But he shouldn't have." 

"Yes he should," replied Belle. "You did nothing wrong." 

"Neither did you," LeFou answered, trying to be polite. Belle wasn't fooled. 

"But you were right," she said. "None of it would have happened if it weren't for me. Gaston would still be alive." 

LeFou shrugged. "That's true," he said. "But we wouldn't have a Prince, either - and as it turns out, he's a pretty swell guy." All the guards in the room grinned and raised their mugs in a salute to Christophe, who ducked his head, smiling self-consciously. "Besides," LeFou went on, "I never would have been able to lug all those kegs way up here all by myself. The men had invited me up here tonight, and I needed to get rid of the last of the beer deliveries anyways. I suppose you could say it was thoughtful of the Prince to send me an escort." Another salute from the guards, accompanied by a few suppressed cheers. 

Belle stepped up beside Christophe, and he shyly took her hand. "Christophe and I need to get back to the Ball," she said. "LeFou, please come with us." 

Amid shouts of encouraging "Go on!"s from the guards, LeFou hesitated. "Please," smiled Belle. "There's something I would like to do." 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"And so we raise our glasses," intoned LeFou respectfully, holding up his goblet of wine, "to the late Gaston. He may have succumbed to folly, but let him remain forever in our hearts, and our minds, a legend in his own time. A greater hunter, tracker, and showman there never was." 

The entire Ballroom had joined in the toast, even those very few present that had never known Gaston - he had been very well travelled. Belle and Christophe stood in the back, holding hands, their goblets lifted high. 

"Here, here," called a male voice. 

"...He may have been about as thick as a brick wall," LeFou added, to some laughter, "...but he was _our_ brick wall." 

"Three cheers for Gaston!" hollered a woman. 

"Hip hip!" Denis shouted. 

"Huzzah!" replied the crowd. 

"Hip hip!" 

"Huzzah!" 

"Hip hip!" 

"Huzzah!" 


	5. Necessity Is A Mother

These Provincial Lives  
a Disney's Beauty and and Beast Fanfic  
by  
C. "Sparky" Read  
_Part V:_  
**"Necessity Is A Mother"**

"A quarter franc on five!" 

"I've got a quarter on six!" Bertram scribbled madly on a tablet as the men shouted all around him. "All right, so that's Nicodeus with five and Hermes with six. Anyone else?" 

"Here he comes," hissed Denis suddenly, and the men fell silent at once, watching the stables eagerly. 

LeFou, pointedly ignoring his audience (he knew full well they were there), stepped into the horse paddock behind his house, securing the gate behind him. He walked slowly towards the stables, his jaw set, rhythmically slapping the bridle gripped tightly in his right hand against his leg as he took step after deliberate step. At last he stopped. 

"Stella," he said. 

The head of a jet-black mare appeared around the wall of the stable, ears erect. LeFou slapped the bridle again. The horse bolted out of the stable and to the far end of the paddock. 

The village men leaned over the fence, watching intently. 

Resignedly LeFou walked slowly after Stella, not making any sudden moves. The mare flattened herself against the back fence as he approached her and held up the bridle. 

"It's for your own good, you know." 

Apparently she didn't, for she whinnied shrilly and darted around the short man, straight for the villagers, who knew the unpredictable mare well enough to jump away from the fence. Stella pivoted when she reached the end of the paddock, planting her hooves and arching her neck. She flared her nostrils and grunted. 

In the stables, Omri, the grey stallion, peeked out once and withdrew with a long-suffering grunt. He was smart enough to know to stay inside during these exercises. 

Again LeFou approached Stella and held up the bridle. "Can't you behave for once?" he muttered, moving closer. Stella stood there frozen, her sides beginning to heave. LeFou steeled himself and slipped the bridle over her muzzle, touching the bit to her lips. 

The village men held their breath. 

LeFou pushed on the bit. Stella kept her jaws clamped. Man and horse sized each other up. Stella blew loudly. 

Determinedly, LeFou walked forward, trying to force Stella to accept the bit. The mare backed up stubbornly, refusing to open her mouth. They began a slow circle of the paddock, Stella walking backwards, her tail flicking in agitation. 

"Another quarter says she kills him," whispered Nicodeus. Hermes, the tailor, elbowed him sharply. 

"Come on, Stella," LeFou spoke to the horse, pushing firmly. "You've got to let me ride you. A horse that no one can ride and can't even pull a plow has only the future of upholstery to look forward to. I don't want you to be shot," he told her bitterly. 

The men at the fence were becoming impatient. "If he can't even get the bridle on today we may as well all go home," remarked Bertram, disappointed. 

"Put a lid on it," spoke up Denis. "He'll get it on." 

As if to prove the blacksmith right, Stella suddenly took the bit. With a sigh of relief, LeFou fastened the bridle and led her back to the side of the stables. She let him put on the saddle without incident, pawing the ground as if impatient to start the day's session. 

"All right, now we're going to see some action." Bertram held up the tablet. "Any last minute bets?" 

"Change mine to ten," said Hermes. "She didn't chase him around the yard today. He's still fresh." It was a bold wager. Bertram made a note of it. 

"All right he's going," announced Denis. "Who's got the clock?" 

"I do," said Nicodeus, holding it up. 

The men watched in anticipation as LeFou climbed a stepladder beside the mare. 

"Get ready...time it!" hissed Denis as LeFou swung into the saddle. 

Stella didn't hesitate. With an indignant scream, she reared and bolted across the paddock in an ebony streak, LeFou clinging doggedly to her neck. When she reached the fence she reared again, twisting, and came down facing the opposite direction. With a single buck LeFou was thrown clean off, sailing over her head through the air in a wide arc. He landed with a splash in Omri's trough, much to the stallion's displeasure. With a snort of disgust Omri stalked away, flinging water out of his mane. 

"Who had ten?" asked Bertram. 

"I did! Ha!" chortled Hermes gleefully. "Pay up, you dupes!" 

"You lot should be ashamed of yourselves," Bain said suddenly, startling the village men. He and Bernaud had shown up a few minutes previous, unnoticed by the engrossed gamblers. "Making wagers on when LeFou will fail at something. Hasn't he opened his taproom to you ungrateful sods, made you welcome in his home and let you sample his selfmade ales asking nothing in return?" 

The villagers glanced down at their shoes and made no reply. 

"Get on home," said Bernaud gruffly. "None of you would have the wherewithal to try and tame that horse. Mind your own affairs." 

As the crowd dispersed the Royal Archers turned back towards the paddock, where LeFou was beginning to try and flounder his way out of the trough. Stella had returned to him, nibbling at his collar mischievously. They had been playing this "game" for weeks now, and it had become her favorite part of the day. Despite her shows of anger, she just loved the attention. 

"All right there, LeFou?" called Bain. The archers knew better than to enter the paddock while Stella was loose. 

LeFou finally managed to tumble out of the trough. He lurched to his feet and wrung out the tails of his coat. "I think I'm making progress," he answered cheerfully. "Go on in, I'll be right there." 

Exchanging amused looks, Bain and Bernaud went around the house and went in through the front door while LeFou went to take the saddle and bridle back off of Stella, until tomorrow. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

The past six months had seen a tremendous difference in LeFou's life. Prince Christophe had ruled that, as Gaston had no family, his business partner (i.e., LeFou) was to be the sole inheritor of all his monies and property. That made not only Gaston's house and everything in it (and Stella) LeFou's, but also his bank account in Aglionby; that coupled with LeFou's own savings added up to a respectable sum. It wasn't, however, enough to simply retire on, especially for someone so young. LeFou, at little urging from the villagers as well as his friends in the Prince's employ, decided to try his hand at becoming a professional brewer. Following in the famed "Ol' Harbin" LeFou's footsteps had proved more complicated than he thought, however, and more expensive. Much of the equipment and all of the storage kegs had to be replaced, as did a couple of the more decrepit copper cauldrons. As LeFou was unable to leave Stella in the care of anyone else, he was forced to order everything, ingredients included, through the Molyneaux general store, and the markup was nothing to be sneezed at. 

But there was no way around the costs. LeFou pored over his father's small library of brewing manuals and personal notes, and wracked his brain to remember everything he had been taught in his younger days. He couldn't afford to take his time and conduct small experiments, so his first batches were done in full-sized cauldrons (luckily the big house had a big cellar to match) and shared with the villagers and Royal Guard, who had proclaimed them of good quality ("And a damn sight better than that wretched Aglionby stuff," Nicodeus had declared). Thus encouraged, LeFou devoted himself to his work, producing small kegs of ales, beers, stouts, and even that amalgam known as "entire" which combined the flavors of beer, ale, and twopenny, and selling them to the general store to be in turn sold to merchants visiting from neighboring locales. It was in his favor that many people still linked the name LeFou with fine ales. 

His greatest crutch, however, had always remained Stella. It was a hindrance to never be able to leave home for more than a day at a time, and at last LeFou had resolved that she must either be broken, or put down. There was no other way around it. And so he had started spending some time every day between breakfast and lunch trying to get Stella to allow him on her back. He had never exhausted more time tending to bruises and minor sprains in his life, and that was certainly saying something. But what LeFou had just told Bain and Bernaud was correct: this time had been the longest he had stayed on since he began the training, and that knowledge had him optimistic. 

"So, what have we got today?" Bain greeted LeFou jovially, as the latter entered the taproom through the back door, bravely trying to hide a slight limp. 

"A dark single-beer," replied LeFou, as Bernaud fetched three mugs from behind the bar. "It's bitter." 

"That means it's merely exceptional. What a shame," replied the older archer with a grin, filling the mugs as LeFou carefully climbed into a chair. "Steady on, my friend. That horse looks to be aiming to be the one to break you." 

LeFou waved the remark off airily as Bernaud served the drinks. "She's not the only female in this town trying to do that," he couldn't help himself. 

Bain nearly choked on his beer. "My God, is it _that_ bad?" he gasped, between coughs. 

LeFou pulled his mug towards himself. "They've started asking for commitment." 

"All _three?_" 

"Yep," replied the brewer after taking a drink. "They had me up against the wall of the general store the other day, demanding that I choose. Madame Boulanger had to rescue me." 

Bernaud laughed and slapped his knee. "Christ in a carriage, boy! Those triplets are real lookers! Don't you like _any_ of them?" 

LeFou rolled his eyes. "Sure, I _like_ them," he said, "but...I don't know...it's a little soon to be asking me to pick just one. I still have trouble remembering which one is allergic to gooseberries." 

Bain snorted into his beer. "Well you'd better start getting used to that kind of treatment," he said. "You're a hot commodity in this little village." 

It was true. LeFou was one of the very few unmarried young men in Molyneaux, and his recent acquisition of wealth and a promising business had won him more positive attention than he had ever hoped to receive in his whole life. Like it or not, LeFou was currently the most eligible bachelor in town. The Fourreur triplets were keenly aware of this, and had taken to whisking him away on moonlit walks and the like every chance they got. In the past two months LeFou had become well acquainted with the fairer sex. Frankly, it made his head spin a little. 

"Hasn't anybody ever heard of commuting?" was all LeFou could come up with. "This isn't the only village in the Principality with bachelors in it. Besides, I have other things to worry about." 

"The locals still giving you grief?" 

"To put it mildly. I won't reopen the tavern." 

"They should be content with what you've already offered them," Bernaud said. "The same system that worked for Ol' Harbin all those years ago." 

Like his father, LeFou had finally opted to allow the village men to drop by pretty much whenever they wanted to have drinks in the taproom, paying by trades of services or small donations of money as they saw fit. This suited LeFou just fine (especially as one of the best services he received was home-cooked meals), but it did get a little tedious having people knocking on his door day and night looking for hospitality. He didn't always let them in for the sake of a little privacy, and the men often grumbled that they missed the tavern. But LeFou was adamant: he didn't want to run the place alone, and now that he'd finally gotten his house back, he didn't want to hire people to run it, either. 

"But it seems like every man in town wants at least one drink every day - except Sunday, of course," said LeFou. "I can't keep up." 

"You know what you should do," spoke up Bain, after draining his beer. "Bottle the stuff. Like they do in the big cities. Let people just buy it that way and drink it at home and give you some peace and quiet. Let their wives worry." 

"Bottling is too expensive," LeFou argued. "The bottles alone cost a mint. I couldn't foot it." 

"Make your customers reimburse you." 

"This isn't a wealthy town, Bain. The men wouldn't go for it." 

"Well, heck," said Bernaud. "We can get you bottles. The Palace buys bottled wine as well as kegged. The empties often just sit around, anyways." 

LeFou thought about it. "The problem with that is once you open a bottle of ale, you have to finish it in one sitting. I can just hear the men now, fighting over whose turn it is to buy, and who's going to share with who." He shook his head. "No, I think it would cause more problems than it solves. It wasn't a bad idea, though." 

Bain shrugged as he went for seconds. "What you need is some small bottles," he mused aloud. 

"Say, _I've_ seen some short bottles," broke in Bernaud suddenly. "Empty ones, in a crate, in the wine cellar. Probably been down there for decades, don't know where they came from. We'll bring some by tomorrow." 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"Explain it again," said Denis, intrigued. 

"Okay." LeFou pulled one of the short ale-filled, corked bottles out of the small wooden crate on the counter in front of him. "Each of these little bottles holds enough ale for one man. Six of them fit in a crate." He replaced the bottle alongside its five companions to demonstrate. "Everyone takes a crate, and every Monday stops by the taproom to get the bottles filled. Every man gets his ale, six days a week, and I get to go to bed early." He looked up anxiously and waited for a verdict. 

Bertram picked up one the little bottles and held it to the light. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I think so. What say you fellows?" 

"I'm game," said Hermes. The other men murmured a satisfied agreement. 

"Now, don't you go breaking any of these bottles," LeFou said as he passed out the crates, "or your weeks are going to suddenly seem a lot longer." 

"Say LeFou," remarked Denis as he collected his crate. "This is a pretty good invention. Every brewer should sell these." 

"Nah," disagreed LeFou. "It would never catch on." 


	6. As the Tankard Turns

These Provincial Lives  
a Disney's Beauty and and Beast Fanfic  
by  
C. "Sparky" Read  
_Part VI:_  
**"As the Tankard Turns"**

It was spring. The winter had been a notably mild one, and it was said that this might have been due to the absence of the dark enchantment that had gripped the Prince's castle - and residually, the land around it - for so long. Belle and Christophe had been married during the winter, because the season held special meaning for the both of them: it had been one year previous when they had first realised feelings for one another. It was still strange for the populous to envision a young woman having feelings for a Beast, even if he were an enchanted Prince, but as it was undeniably so, this fact was not mentioned publicly. After all, that woman was their Princess now. 

Christophe was not King, as one might expect a Prince to become when he was married; many are not aware of the complex and often tedious trials and tribulations of Royal Politics. The Principality of Silvermist, Christophe's domain, was but a mere parcel of the Kingdom, and it would not be until the demise of the King of that land that Christophe might, perhaps, assume that throne. There were, however, other Principalities in the Kingdom, as well as Baronies and Shires and Cantons, and while it was likely that Christophe was next in line, it was not etched in stone. 

But that is mere exposition and not the tale being told here. 

Ignatius LeFou, like his father before him, was the local brewer of the small village of Molyneaux, located in the heart of the Principality. Although he had only been producing ales and such for just under a year, he'd found that riding on Harbin LeFou's coattails had only helped to make his product that much more saleable. This was not to say that he was the best alemaker in the land - far from it - but he was at least, as one might put it, "on his way." 

But like his father, LeFou could be careless with his money. Though his income was respectable, he believed in shelling out the necessary funds for producing quality drinks, and his bank account in the nearby city of Aglionby suffered for that. The money he had inherited from the late Gaston was nearly gone, and he had trouble making profits exceed his expenditures. His friends at the Palace tried again and again to get him to pawn off Gaston's belongings, but he dragged his feet; and as no one had yet made him an offer on Gaston's house, he felt no immediate need to sell off its contents. 

The life LeFou led had both an up and a downside. Every man wants to be a brewer's friend - the free samples alone is a perk just too good to pass by. But after a lifetime of being the town underdog, of spending years as Gaston's right-hand-man (a position both envied and sneered at by the village men), LeFou often went out of his way to win favor with anyone he could. Although he had gained the villagers' grudging respect, it was safe to say that he was also not nearly as well liked as his father had been, and was taken advantage of quite regularly, both financially and socially. He remained the butt of many a prank, and, unwilling to appear like he couldn't take a joke, he just tried to pretend he didn't notice. 

Things might have gone on like that for years if it weren't for what happened next. 

One afternoon merely days after the first signs of spring, LeFou walked out of the back door of his house to see a young woman - more of a girl, really, barely eighteen - leaning over the fence of the horse paddock, petting his black mare. 

LeFou's first impulse was to run straight for the girl, screaming for her to get back. After all, Stella could be dangerous. But then he checked himself. 

Although while Stella had belonged to Gaston she had been vicious towards anyone but himself and LeFou, the latter had been spending nearly every day of the past seven or eight months trying to get her to first allow him to ride her; and then allow others to not only handle her, but ride her as well. At last she had been willing to let LeFou's friends Bain and Bernaud ride her. It had been a major victory. 

But this was the first time LeFou had seen a total stranger walk up to Stella and just start petting her. It was a very good sign, and he felt briefly grateful to the girl for simply proving that Stella was at last manageable. He'd always worried that one of the village men might kill her after a bout of violent behavior. He was glad to see that there was hope. He headed for the paddock. 

Before he could say anything to the girl, however, she looked down at him and said, straightforwardly, "There you are," as if she knew him very well. 

"Er, good afternoon," he replied, struggling to remember if he had ever met this girl before, perhaps while in Aglionby. Finally able to leave Stella with Bain, he had started making trips there a few months ago, and he had met more people than he could ever hope to remember. Many of them had been young women, interested in the attentions of an up-and-coming businessman. But he just couldn't place this girl's features. He certainly didn't remember her smile - and she was smiling at him now, quite broadly. He wondered if perhaps his collar looked funny, or he had a smudge on his face. He fidgeted. "Can I help you?" he said at last. 

"Is this Stella?" asked the girl, giving the mare's muzzle a final pat before turning her full attention on the short man. "I thought she wouldn't let strangers near her." 

LeFou blinked. That was odd. "I didn't know she was so famous," he remarked. 

The girl pointed to the grey stallion, currently rubbing his shoulder against a post of the rear of the paddock. "And that's Omri? He's a beautiful animal." 

Now he was sure. "We _haven't_ met, have we?" LeFou queried, perplexed. Was this person a horse fancier? He looked her over, trying one last time to remember her. She was of average height, with light brown hair (most of it concealed by a bonnet) and hazel eyes, with a sharp nose and a longish neck. Her clothing was almost strikingly plain. If possible, she smiled even more broadly at the question. 

"Oh, no, I forgot. Not yet." 

She's a strange one, LeFou had to think. "Well, then...who _are_ you?" he asked bluntly. 

At once the girl laughed delightedly, clasping her hands together, as if LeFou had just told a terrific joke. He moved away slightly in alarm, and she stopped laughing abruptly. 

"I'm sorry," she said, though she still smiled. "It's just that it's such fun to have a secret." She glanced at the house. "Can we go inside?" 

LeFou frowned. "Inside?" 

"Yes." The girl rocked on her heels a bit. "I have something very interesting to show you." 

When LeFou hesitated, the girl stopped rocking and looked at him earnestly. "Please," she said, sobering at last. "It's very important, and I've come a long way." 

He had to give in. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"What are you doing?" LeFou demanded as he watched, bewildered, while the girl went around the taproom closing and fastening all of the shutters. She had already bolted the door. 

"I have to show you something," she said as she worked, "and I don't want anyone else to see." 

Oh, boy. "Look, I don't know what you're selling," he said abruptly, at last fed up with the girl's bizarre behaviour and trying to sound tougher than he felt, "but I'm not buying! Now you better take your little 'secret' and hike on outta town before I - what's that?" 

The girl, having completed her task, had made her way in the near-darkness to sit at one of the tables. She had pulled something from a pouch at her waist and now it glinted weirdly, although no light struck it. 

"Come sit," she said. 

With a longing glance at the front door, LeFou obeyed reluctantly, easing slowly into a chair while watching the girl's shadowy form intently lest her head start spinning around or somesuch thing. It would have come as little surprise at that point. 

The girl took a deep breath, as if steeling herself, and then looked at the thing in her hand. "Show me Gaston," she told it, and at once the room was awash in flickering green light as white threads of power crackled about the object. LeFou had to shield his eyes momentarily, and as he lowered his hands the girl turned the object around. 

It was an ornate silver hand-held mirror, and reflected on its surface was a moving image of Gaston. LeFou recognised the mirror at once, but the image it showed instantly commanded his full attention. 

Gaston was talking. "…And pretty soon the first guy says again, 'Did you see that?' and the second guy, who's getting really annoyed, says, 'Yes I did,' just to shut him up, and then the first guy says - " 

"'Then why did you step in it?'" LeFou delivered the punchline automatically, in synch with Gaston. Suddenly realising what was happening, LeFou reached out and slammed the mirror facedown on the table. The light winked out and the room was dark once again. 

"What the hell?" squeaked LeFou, scrambling backwards. He stumbled over his chair and wound up on the floor. "...What the hell was _that?_" 

"It was Gaston." 

"B - Wh - How did you _do_ that?" LeFou strained to make out the girl's expression, to see if she was laughing at him again. It was too dark to tell. 

But she didn't sound like she was laughing when she said, "It's a magic mirror." 

Suddenly LeFou forgot the strange image long enough to remember the mirror itself. "Where did you get that?" he asked. He made no effort to get up. He hadn't the strength. 

The girl's silhouette shrugged. "Gaston had it on him when he was found. It really ought to have been smashed to pieces in the river, but apparently magic mirrors are unbreakable." A pause. "I'm sorry," the girl said at length. "I know I've shocked you." Leaving the mirror on the table, she got up and knelt beside LeFou. "Are you all right?" 

LeFou started at her. She was crazy, she had to be crazy. No, he was the one who was crazy. "Gaston is dead," he protested weakly, lying there. 

"No he's not," was the reply. "He's alive and well and he wants to see you." 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

Her name was Jessamyn Lacroix, and she was from Danvers. It had taken her six days to reach the village by horse-drawn buggy, and she had come alone. Danvers, which was known for its fishing and little else, was a tiny out-of-the way community located downriver from Molyneaux, and lay on the very outskirts of the Principality. It was there that Gaston, battered and broken and practically comatose from exhaustion, had been hauled out of the river by an elderly fisherman and his son and brought to the local doctor's house almost a year ago. A man of lesser stamina would never have survived. Luck probably had something to do with it as well. The doctor, as it happened, had two daughters: Jessamyn, and the eldest, Emeline, to whom Gaston was currently engaged to be married. 

"And that's why I came here," said Jessamyn, pouring a little more brandy into LeFou's tea, because he looked like he needed it. "Gaston's always going on about you, so I thought it would be a nice wedding present to bring you to Danvers to be his best man." She smiled at her own cleverness. "He showed you to us in the Mirror. Otherwise I wouldn't have known you." 

Jessamyn had finally opened one of the windows, so it was no longer too dark to see anything. LeFou tentatively looked her in the eye. "He...talks about me?" He tried not to think about what exactly he had been doing when two strange women - and God knows who else - had been observing him from afar via the Mirror. 

"Does he ever." Jessamyn took a drink of her own, nonalcoholic tea. "It's always 'LeFou and I' this, or 'Me and LeFou' that, or 'I remember when LeFou fill-in-the-blank.' You must have been joined at the hip." 

LeFou was silent a moment. "He really wants me at his wedding?" he asked. 

"Well...he didn't _say_ so. But it stands to reason." Jessamyn held his gaze, her eyes twinkling. "I didn't tell anyone what I was planning," she said. "Just that I was going to go get a wedding present, and I talked Gaston into letting me take the Mirror. It's going to be such a terrific surprise." 

LeFou slowly drank the last of his tea, set the cup down carefully on the table, and walked to the counter without a word. 

Jessamyn frowned after him. Obviously, she had been expecting a different reaction. "You're - You...Don't you _want_ to go?" she demanded. 

"Sure I do. You can stay the night here if you want. You can use my sister's room." 

Jessamyn 's frown turned into a scowl. "Was Gaston your friend or not?" 

LeFou was pouring himself a stiff drink; that spiked tea just hadn't quite done the job. "He was my friend." 

Jessamyn exhaled sharply, slumping in her chair. "Then what on Earth is wrong with you?" she shouted. "I come here and tell you your friend didn't die a year ago and you act like I came to collect taxes! You're the strangest person I ever met!" 

"Obviously you don't know yourself very well," LeFou couldn't stop himself. 

Jessamyn snorted, an unladylike sound. "Nice," she said, rolling her eyes. "Then she looked at him. "I can really stay here tonight?" she changed the subject. 

"Yes." 

"Then I'm going to go get some of my things," she said, standing up again. "I left my cart at the stables." 

LeFou hesitated, feeling awkward. "I could go with you," he offered. 

"I'm fine." Jessamyn unbolted the door. "Hey," she said, turning around. "You...you won't go telling anyone, about Gaston? Um...that he's alive, I mean, not yet...I - " She broke off. "He's been safe way out in Danvers but...if word gets out that he's alive, the Prince..." 

"I don't know what the Prince would do," interrupted LeFou. "Gaston did try to kill him, but then, all the men of this village wanted to do the same thing, and he forgave all of us. But...I won't tell, anyway." 

They looked at each other. After a moment, Jessamyn left without further comment. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

LeFou lay awake for a long time after going to bed, staring at the ceiling. He didn't think he would ever sleep again. Gaston wasn't dead. All this time, he hadn't been dead. He was in _Danvers_, of all places, and who the heck ever went there? Nobody. LeFou couldn't imagine Gaston being happy out in the middle of nowhere surrounded by a few fishermen, without even a tavern to display all his hunting trophies. Where _would_ he put his trophies? In an old-fashioned pavilion? LeFou hadn't ever been to Danvers (because no one ever goes there! he thought wryly) but somehow he was sure a little place like that would have an old canvas pavilion in the center of town. 

Frankly, he was as scared as if Gaston's ghost itself had come back to haunt him. Maybe Jess was right; maybe he _should_ have been happier to hear that his former best friend hadn't died a horrible death after all. But he was uneasy. It wasn't as if things would ever be the same, after everything that had happened. And what _about_ the Prince? Would he fling Gaston in gaol and throw away the key? Or perhaps just have him executed? Probably not, LeFou's better judgment told him. But even Gaston couldn't hide in Danvers forever; and when the secret got out, everything was bound to get unpleasant, one way or the other. Would he be the one to spill the beans? That's the sort of thing I would do, LeFou thought bitterly to himself. He felt like the proverbial jar of worms. 

A soft light shone under his door, and he sat up. It was obvious that Jessamyn had lit a lantern in the taproom, but it had been so long since anyone else had moved about his house at night that, even knowing whom it was, it seemed a bit eerie. After several minutes had passed and the light had not gone outside nor been extinguished, he threw on some clothes and left his room. 

He found Jessamyn in the taproom, staring up at the portrait of Gaston, which he had hung back up rather recently on a whim. The bearskin rug was also back in front of the fireplace, although Gaston's chair remained pushed to the side, covered with a sheet. 

Jessamyn didn't turn around when LeFou cleared his throat to let her know he was there. "I've never seen him like that," she remarked. 

The statement caught LeFou off guard. "What do you mean?" 

"Like..." Jessamyn seemed to search for words. "Standing so tall. He was hurt very badly," she told LeFou, looking over at him as he stood beside her. 

It was hard for LeFou to imagine Gaston as anything less than he had always been. "How badly?" 

Jessamyn shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "One arm was broken in two places," she said slowly, "and a few ribs - a couple were showing." LeFou felt his blood run cold. "Both legs were broken in several places too," Jessamyn went on, "and his left knee was...Father says it will never be the same. He healed really well though, and he's gotten so much stronger. But..." She looked back up at the painting. "I've just never seen him like that." 

LeFou didn't know what to think. Gaston had always been so hung up on his appearances and the way he carried himself. "How is he - with...Um...how are his looks?" he asked awkwardly, not knowing how else to put it. 

Jessamyn turned from the painting and walked towards the wooden bench LeFou had dragged in front of the fireplace. "Of course you'd ask that," she said with amusement. "I forgot how well you must know him." She sat. "I never heard such whining in my life over a few scars easily hid by clothing. It's not as if that mealticket of a face of his was so much as bruised. He probably only survived drowning because he was fighting so hard the whole time to make sure to keep his head above water so nothing would happen to his precious face." She crossed her legs and frowned into the empty fireplace. "And it's not as if he didn't have any scars before, anyways. I mean, that big one alone…" 

LeFou, with the aid of a stepstool, fetched the tinderbox from its place on the mantle - he probably wasn't going to get any sleep that night anyway. "Do you mean that goat bite?" 

Jessamyn sputtered. "Is _that_ what that is? A _goat_ bite?" She laughed. "He wouldn't tell us." 

LeFou transferred some kindling from a basket to the fireplace. "He told me he was throwing rocks at a goat when he was a boy, and it chased him down and bit him on the ass." 

Jessamyn giggled madly. 

"Believe me," went on LeFou, as the fire crackled to life, "I've seen that thing more times than I could count. Gaston thought it was macho to throw off all his clothes and jump in the river every chance he got, especially when it was near freezing." 

At that revelation, Jessamyn laughed even harder. 

LeFou sat beside her on the bench, smiling despite himself. "Yep, those were the good old days," he mused. 

Jess caught her breath and wiped her eyes. "So, you ready to go surprise the heck out of the big dope or not?" 

Jessamyn's laughter had been infectious, and the sudden upsurging of memories of Gaston peeling off his underwear and running starkers towards the icy river yelling "Come on, LeFou, it's fun!" (and LeFou's standard deadpanned reply: ""Oh yeah, I'm on my way") _had_ made him feel a little better. "Yes," he admitted. 

The girl sensed the change in attitude and nearly clapped her hands for joy. "Great! When do we leave?" 

LeFou considered. "I'll need a few days to fill some orders," he said, "and I'll have to tell Monsieur Channing at the general store not to take any new ones..." He'd told her all about his business over dinner. She'd had no idea. It would take some doing to become known way out in Danvers - although, Jessamyn had admitted, several of the men had recognised Gaston the moment they saw him. But then, he was Gaston. 

Jessamyn made a face. "A few days? We can't go sooner? They're holding the wedding for me as it is." 

"I can't just disappear to go to Danvers," LeFou argued. "I couldn't get back for at least a few weeks, and I have a business to run. I can't afford to lose any customers." 

"Well I'll help you," replied Jessamyn at once. "How hard could it be to pour beer into barrels?" 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"I'll never move again," groaned Jessamyn, flopping into the front of the wagon. 

LeFou climbed in and took the reins. "I didn't tell you," he grinned. "Filling the barrels is the easy part. Then you have to deliver them to the general store. This wagon of yours is handy, though; I usually just have Omri pull a little cart." 

"Stop being so damn cheerful," Jess complained as they headed back towards the town square. "I'm in pain." 

"Aww," mocked LeFou. Jess tried to kick him but it was a feeble attempt. He laughed. "Listen," he said, "Let's stop by Gaston's - " He stopped short and lowered his voice to a whisper, although there were no villagers near enough to overhear. "Let's stop by Gaston's and get some of his things for him." 

"Good idea. For once." She stuck her tongue out at him. 

LeFou rolled his eyes. "Thanks. You know, you're like the annoying little sister I never had. Lucky me, I only had an annoying _older_ sister." 

"How much older?" 

"Nine years." 

"Wow! That much?" 

"Yeah well, I was a...surprise." He grinned at Jess, and she grinned back. 

"So where's she live now?" 

"Aglionby, with her husband and...what is it now...six kids. Here it is." They'd reached Gaston's house. 

"Do you think anyone will wonder why we're taking things out of his house?" whispered Jessamyn as she and LeFou carried a trunk of clothes between them back to the wagon. 

As if in reply, Bertram happened by just then with a basket of bread he was delivering to someone down the street. "Er, bonjour, LeFou," he said, gazing curiously at the stranger. "Have you finally sold that house?" he guessed. 

"Um…no," LeFou floundered. "Just...some clothes, and stuff." 

"For my brother," Jessamyn piped up helpfully. "He's about Gaston's size." 

"Really?" Bertram arched an eyebrow. "There aren't many fellas around who could match Gaston's build. What's his name?" 

"Rupert," replied Jess without hesitation. 

"Hm...Don't know any big Ruperts..." Bertram shouldered his basket. "Well. Good day to you both." He went on his way. 

LeFou and Jessamyn looked at each other, then pushed the trunk into the back of the wagon. "So," said LeFou conversationally, "do you think 'Big Rupert' will like his new wardrobe? Or maybe he'd prefer stripes," he added, opening the trunk and holding up a pair of monogrammed underwear. 

This time, Jessamyn really did kick him, although it wasn't hard, and they both laughed. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

The next morning LeFou and Jessamyn loaded the wagon, adding a couple of medium-sized kegs of ale for good measure. LeFou locked his door and left a note pinned to it for Bain and Bernaud in case they happened by (as they surely would) explaining that he had had to go out of town for a few weeks. As an extra precaution, he didn't say where to. 

Jess drove the wagon while LeFou opted to ride Omri and lead Stella. He and Jessamyn entertained each other by swapping humorous stories, many about Gaston; and by the time six days later when Danvers came into view, LeFou couldn't deny that his nagging reservations had just about vanished. He was going to see Gaston again and he couldn't wait. 

"What are _you_ grinning at?" Jessamyn asked LeFou curiously as they paused at the edge of the trees. 

"Nice pavilion," LeFou commented smugly. 

Jess pouted at him. "Smartass," she said. "Now, I want you to stay here while I go ahead. Come when I call." She smiled mischievously. "This is going to be some surprise." 


	7. This Wasn't In the Bridal Registry

These Provincial Lives  
a Disney's Beauty and and Beast Fanfic  
by  
C. "Sparky" Read  
_Part VII:_  
**"This Wasn't In the Bridal Registry"**

Gaston scowled at Jessamyn as the girl climbed down off of the wagon. "There you are," he said crossly. "It's about time you got back. Think we can actually have a wedding now?" 

Jessamyn skipped up onto the porch as Gaston got up from his chair, picking up his crutch as he did so. The girl made a big show of throwing her arms about the man while he made a big show of not liking it. "Missed you too," she chirped, taking the Magic Mirror from the pouch at her waist and tucking it into Gaston's belt. "Told you I wouldn't lose it," she said as he promptly took it back out to examine it. "Neat little toy." 

"I told you this isn't a toy." Gaston replaced the Mirror in his belt and made his way down the porch steps towards the back of the wagon. "You get that big surprise wedding present that you just_ had_ to have?" he pressed, peeking inside. Jessamyn ran up to him and tugged at his arm. 

"What part of 'surprise' is a foreign concept to you?" she complained as the much stronger man continued to look around the inside of the wagon, oblivious to her pulling. "Besides," she said triumphantly, stepping away, "it isn't even in there. So ha." 

Gaston turned to look at the girl, making a face. "What do you mean it isn't in there?" he demanded. "Start making sense, for once. Did you get it or not?" 

"I got it!" 

"Then where _is_ it?" Gaston challenged with a smirk, tucking his crutch under his arm and putting his knuckles on his hips. "...You _lost_ it, didn't you?" 

Jessamyn put her hands on her hips too. "I didn't!" 

"I'll bet." Gaston rolled his eyes. "Because of course you never lose _anything_." 

"If you're referring to that goat I misplaced last year, that was an honest mistake." 

"Well. It was honestly _something_." 

Ignoring him, Jessamyn turned back to the house. "Mama! Papa!" she shouted. "Emeline! I'm back! Come out and see what I brought!" 

Gaston spread out his arms. "There isn't anything _here!_" he reminded her. 

Jessamyn stuck her tongue out at him. "Patience," she said. 

"I haven't got time for patience," grunted the other as Doctor and Madame Lecroix emerged from the house. 

"Jessamyn, dear," Madame greeted her daughter. "We were so worried about you." 

"I made it back all right, Mama. Where's Em?" 

"Busy making a pie," replied the doctor. "You know your sister. Well, did you get that gift you wanted?" 

"Yes, Papa. Wait until you see." Jessamyn could barely contain herself. "But I want Em to see too. Emeline!" she shouted at the house. 

Madame raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to save it for the wedding?" 

Jessamyn grinned. "I don't think it can wait that long." 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

LeFou contemplated dismounting; he had no idea just how long he would have to wait before Jessamyn gave him the signal to enter town. But he was well aware of the effort involved in climbing up onto the back of a full-grown horse without a stepladder - such was the cross he had to bear - and in the end he decided to stay put. Beneath him, Omri seemed content to graze peacefully, and LeFou decided the stallion was in no hurry to be rid of his rider. 

But Stella was another story. She danced agitatedly at the end of her reins, refusing to settle down and graze beside her sire. LeFou had been yanked out of Omri's saddle enough times to know that when Stella got this way, it was touch-and-go on keeping her restrained by merely holding the reins; so he made up his mind to dismount at last and secure the reins to a tree. 

Stella, however, wasn't having any. As soon as LeFou swung his left leg over Omri's back to climb down, the black mare bolted in the direction of town, ripping her reins out of the man's hand and sending him crashing to the forest floor. He managed to extricate his face from the dirt in time to see her disappear through the trees. 

"Great, way to blow everything," LeFou grumbled to himself, sitting up and brushing grime off of the sleeves of his coat. Stella was going to ruin the surprise, and he wasn't going to have much of a shot making a good impression looking like he'd just been dragged ten yards through mouldy leaves. Omri, who had danced away a bit, now came over and gave LeFou a firm shove with his muzzle; LeFou seized the grey stallion's bridle and used the horse's leverage to haul himself to his feet. Figuring he may as well go into town now, he clambered up into Omri's saddle and headed in that direction. 

Danvers was unquestionably a diminutive village. The number of freestanding structures - whether they be houses or shops (or both) it was hard to tell - could almost be counted on both hands; there was a liberal smattering of goats and chickens roaming about, but few sheep, and fewer horses. A generously sized (but ancient-looking) green-and-white canvas pavilion dominated the center of town. 

At the moment when LeFou hesitantly directed Omri into the village, what was certainly just about the entire population - men, women, and children - had congregated near one of the houses. Jessamyn's wagon stood to the side, horse still hitched. Stella was in the center of the curious crowd, and the man holding her reins could be no one other but Gaston. 

LeFou stared transfixed at Gaston as he drew nearer, himself unnoticed as of yet. It really was him. LeFou hadn't been sure what to expect after Jessamyn had described Gaston's injuries, but he really didn't look much different than he did before. He may possibly have been a bit thinner - yes, that was it, he was a bit thinner - but otherwise he was the one and only Gaston. 

Pretty soon LeFou was close enough to hear what Gaston was saying: 

"I have to admit, Jess, this is a pretty good gift. Worth delaying the wedding, that's for sure. You - stand back," he addressed a young man about his own age, who had taken a step towards the mare. "She doesn't like strangers." 

Gaston was too engrossed in inspecting Stella to spot LeFou when everyone else present did; the crowd parted silently to allow Omri to pass. 

"Gaston," said Jess, tugging on the other's arm as she glanced urgently in LeFou's direction. "The horse isn't the only thing I brought from Molyneaux. There's...something else." 

Gaston didn't even look up. "Well, throw it in the cellar," he replied shortly, totally absorbed in straightening Stella's bridle. 

Jess had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. "I don't know," she said seriously. "Don't you think that would make us bad hosts?" She tugged at Gaston's arm again. 

"What?" said Gaston, looking round at last. "How do you m - " He fell silent at once, and he and LeFou stared at one another. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

Gaston was both speechless and numb from suprise, leaving only his brain working freely, and as you can well imagine it wasn't entirely up to the challenge. But it did its best. 

To be perfectly frank, Gaston wasn't initially pleased to see LeFou. He wouldn't have been pleased to see anyone from his life prior to That Night - or to put it more precisely, he wouldn't have been pleased to be seen _by_ anyone. He wasn't fully recovered; his physique wasn't entirely back to standard; and to top it off, he had a crutch tucked under his left arm. To the citizens of Danvers this was fine, because they had seen him when he first arrived and comparatively, his recovery had been quite impressive. 

But LeFou had known him when he was whole. Physically, Gaston was now flawed, and he could never put that out of his mind. To make things worse, LeFou had probably idollised him more than just about anyone else had - what would he think of him now? 

At last Gaston regained the use of his throat. "LeFou," he said, managing not to sound strangled. He waited expectantly for the other to gasp in shock and make some glaring comment about his diminished state. 

But LeFou, to his credit, did neither of these things. Instead, he broke into a big smile. "Hi Gaston," he said, as genially as if the two had just seen each other the night before at the tavern and were getting together for some casual hunting. "How've you been?" 

Gaston blinked a couple of times before exhaling and stepping forward. Chiding himself for not expecting as much from LeFou, he swept the other right out of Omri's saddle - crutch falling forgotten to the ground - and enfolded him in a rib-cracking bearhug. 

Around them, the spectators grinned as Gaston laughed. "LeFou! I don't believe it!" cried the hunter, tucking the smaller man under his right arm in order to firmly rub his knuckles into the top of LeFou's head. 

"Ow! Gaston!" LeFou managed to protest. "Quiddit! Ow!" 

Gaston suddenly held LeFou out at arm's length to appraise him. "What happened to _you?_" Gaston demanded bluntly, wrinkling his nose. "You're filthy!" 

"Well, I - I - " 

But apparently it was a rhetorical question. "Em!" Gaston barked over his shoulder at the house. "Come out here! Look who it is!" 

LeFou, who knew better by now not to struggle too hard when he was being manipulated like a rag doll lest he be dropped head-first, followed the crowd's lead and looked expectantly at the front door of the house. When it opened, there was no doubt in his mind that the person who emerged was none other than the woman Gaston had chosen to marry. Emeline Lecroix was quite a beauty. 

The golden-haired vision floated down the porch steps, wiping flour from her hands onto her apron and smiling a reserved sort of lemon-twist smile that managed somehow to add to her allure as well as impart a note of mystery. LeFou noticed at once that her attire was modest and unrevealing; but other than that he concluded that Emeline seemed indeed precisely Gaston's type - at least physically. But then, with Gaston, what other criteria was there? 

Gaston proudly held LeFou out before him like a new puppy, and LeFou was felled speechless once again when Emeline stepped up to him, that lemon-twist smile stamping itself upon his memory like a royal seal. "Monsieur LeFou," she greeted him softly, and kissed him on both cheeks. A chuckle from the closest members of the audience told him that he was blushing, and he tried to laugh too to cover his embarrassment. 

Gaston finally set him down. "Good going, sis," he commended Jessamyn, who was standing nearby beaming smugly, and he gave LeFou a sudden whap on the back that nearly sent the small man tumbling to the ground for the second time that day. "Sorry, fellows," Gaston went on, turning in a circle to address the crowd, "but I'm afraid the position of Best Man has been filled." 

LeFou noted that the village men received this announcement with good-natured chuckles. Gaston had delivered the news as if he truly expected the other men to be jealous; clearly these villagers had learned to humour the vain hunter. 

Gaston suddenly could not resist the urge to show off - in front of the villagers, in front of LeFou; but most importantly, in front of Emeline. At once he sprang into Stella's saddle, his bad leg little hindrance, causing the mare to rear and whinny. "Stella's the fastest horse in the Principality!" he proclaimed, and slapped Stella's flank when her forelegs once again touched ground. With another whinny, she was off like a shot. Gaston rode her in a circle around the little town, shouting and whooping. 

Jessamyn stepped up beside LeFou. "He's like this all the time," she said, smiling, as Doctor and Madame Lecroix exhanged long-suffering looks. 

"Yeah. I know." 

Gaston brought Stella to a halt at precisely the same spot she had started from and hopped nimbly down, favoring his left leg, and grandly accepted the villager's complements on what a fine horse he owned. 

LeFou suddenly spotted Gaston's crutch lying on the ground beside his feet, noticing for the first time that the crosspiece at the top was made from a piece of polished antler, which gave it a rustic touch and suited its owner. LeFou picked it up gingerly, as if it were fragile. 

"Um, Gaston?" he spoke up hesitantly. 

"Huh? Oh. Thanks." Gaston absently plucked the crutch from LeFou's hands and placed it under his left arm. "No, no, Fedore, I told you to stay away from that horse," Gaston chastised the same young man from before, who was reaching for Stella's bridle. 

"Oh, it's okay," said Jessamyn brightly. "She isn't mean any more." 

"What?" Puzzled, Gaston turned to LeFou. 

"Gaston, I'm sorry," blurted LeFou, cringing a bit despite himself. "I know you liked Stella...spirited, but...I didn't want her to be put down, so I...I - " 

Gaston looked from Stella to LeFou, to Stella, and then back again. "You _broke_ my horse?" he demanded. "_You?_" 

Uh-oh. "Um, well, you know, I - I thought, you know, that it was _best_, I mean - " 

At once Gaston burst out laughing. "Nice job!" he exclaimed, thumping his crutch on the ground in emphasis. "It always really annoyed me that I couldn't stable her anywhere I wanted. Well, then, Fedore. " He took both Stella's and Omri's reins and handed them to the young man. "Take care of these horses, will you, lad?" 

Fedore was glad to comply. "Right away, Gaston." He led the animals away as the crowd finally dispersed. 

Gaston slapped a hand on LeFou's shoulder. "Well come on in!" he beamed. "That dinner ready yet, Em?" 

"Almost." 

"I hope you like pie," Doctor Lecroix commented as they all headed inside. 

"Don't I _look_ like I like pie?" LeFou asked, and Jessamyn laughed. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

The Lecroix house was rather crowded. Doctor and Madame Lecroix occupied one bedroom, and as it turned out Gaston had been staying in Emeline's since he had arrived a year before. When LeFou found out that Jessamyn was going to move out to the sitting room with Emeline so he could have her bedroom, he objected, but lost the argument in the end. 

The doctor and his wife were lovely people, and it intrigued LeFou to note that they treated Gaston as their own son. As Gaston had always claimed that he had never known his father and could barely remember his mother, it was fascinating to watch the three of them together. Knowing Gaston as he did, LeFou was able to see through the hunter's cavalier attitude and recognise that he was truly fond of them. It was something LeFou had never seen before, not from Gaston, and it really struck him. And Gaston as had apparently long ago accepted Jessamyn, as LeFou himself had put it, "an annoying little sister." 

As for Emeline...well, she was a bit of an enigma. As they all chatted over dinner, LeFou watched Emeline constantly out of the corner of his eye. She hardly ever sat down, but rather flitted around the table like a graceful moth, attending to everyone's needs; she always seemed to know in advance when one was about to finish their wine or wished for another helping of something. LeFou had frankly never seen anything like it. Unlike her loquacious sister, Emeline didn't seem inclined to speak very often, adding to her ethereal sort of presence: it was if she wasn't there, and yet was everywhere at once. She was beautiful, gracious, and coyly reserved all at the same time. LeFou envied Gaston's good fortune, but he couldn't help but wonder if he was truly over Belle. LeFou had never seen Gaston as preoccupied with anyone as much as he had been with her...He longed to speak to Gaston alone but that didn't seem likely to happen any time soon. 

Gaston had been delighted at the trunk full of his personal belongings, and especially at the two guns and the bow LeFou had also brought for him. "We'll go hunting tomorrow and bring back a feast for the wedding!" Gaston declared, although LeFou was well aware that there wouldn't be time. He felt sure that his friend was merely bragging again, and presently forgot the comment entirely. 

When LeFou wouldn't do so, Jessamyn monopolised part of the evening talking about his brewing business, repeating everything he had told her. The news that LeFou and Jessamyn had brought along some homemade ale was well received. 

After dinner Gaston dragged LeFou around the village, introducing him to every last individual he could find, again depriving him of the chance to get the other alone. LeFou was honoured to meet Cecil, the elderly fisherman who had found Gaston in the river. The young man Fedore was Cecil's son and had been the one who had carried Gaston to the doctor's house. Gaston seemed as close to Cecil as he was to the doctor and his wife, treating him as a sort of grandfatherly figure. 

It occurred to LeFou that the entire village of Danvers was responsible for Gaston being alive and well. Cecil and his son might have pulled Gaston from the river; the doctor and his family might have nursed him back to health; but it had been the combined effort of every person in the village that had kept his existence a secret from the Prince's men. Everyone had feared that the unfortunate man would be incarcerated, and had risked committing treason to protect him. It was Cecil who had traveled alone to the Palace for the Goodwill Ball last spring and come back bearing news of Gaston's "death." But how long they could keep this secret was unknown. It was easy to keep Gaston hidden from the herald who had come by to announce the Ball, as he was still unconscious at that time; but once the previous autumn a band of the Prince's men had ridden out to Danvers, apparently for the heck of it. The weaver and his wife had stashed Gaston in their cellar, and it had been a close call. It was all rather bizarre to LeFou, and made him feel a bit like a traitor to the Crown. He still hoped he wouldn't be the one to blow Gaston's cover. That would be a shame, considering how happy Gaston seemed here. 

As they toured the village, LeFou noticed that the men joined them one by one, the women and children going back inside their homes. By the time they had completed the circuit of the town, the men had formed a miniature mob, which then started to gravitate towards the brightly lit pavilion. LeFou observed that somewhere along the way one of his ale kegs had been picked up and was being borne upon the shoulders of two of the stronger men. 

"What's in there?" LeFou wanted to know as they approached the pavilion. 

"What'dya think?" asked a man called Caspar, smiling broadly. "What kind've weddin' d'ya think it'd be tomorrow, without a proper bachelor party?" 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"...And then it starts pouring rain, so he gives up and goes home. As he gets back in bed he says, 'The weather out there is terrible!' And his wife says, 'I know! Can you believe my idiot of a husband is out there fishing in it?'" 

The bachelor party had so far consisted of men drinking, telling jokes (most of them involving fishing and many of them quite lewd) and drinking some more. Really, it was pretty much like any other party LeFou had ever gone to with Gaston. But he enjoyed the company; every man in the village had both welcomed him warmly and cheered him for his ale. He was just glad to be there, with all these good, humble fishermen - not to mention Gaston himself. It really was almost too perfect to be true. 

"All right, all right," said Cecil, refilling his mug. "Enough jokes. A toast to Gaston!" 

"You said no more jokes!" shouted someone. The men laughed. 

"All right," repeated Cecil good-naturedly. He lifted his mug and the other men followed suit while Gaston sat there basking in all the attention. 

"I'd like to repeat," began Cecil, "what my grandfather said to me the day I left Byington - " 

"Don't come back," quipped the same man from before. More laughter. 

Cecil waited for it to die down before turning to Gaston. "'May ye be in Heaven half an hour,'" he toasted, "'before the Devil knows you're dead.'" 

"Huzzah!" cheered the men. 

"A speech!" called Fedore as everyone drank. 

"No, a story!" shouted Caspar. 

"Story!" repeated several voices. 

Gaston started to stand up obligingly, mouth open to start in on what he no doubt considered a particularly juicy story of one of his own exploits, when Caspar spoke up again: "Let LeFou tell one!" 

"Yes, LeFou!" 

"LeFou!" 

LeFou stopped in mid-drink as the men cheered him on all around. Gaston sank back into his seat, intrigued. 

"Yes, tell us a story, LeFou," he prompted. 

"About Gaston!" said someone. 

"Yes. About _me_." Gaston flashed his teeth in a jaunty grin. 

LeFou looked around uncertainly for a moment. "Oh, uh...okay," he said, putting his mug down. He stood up, then wisely decided to stand on his chair. "I guess I know a good one..." 

"Something funny!" yelled Caspar. 

LeFou relaxed. That sort of story would be easier to tell than a grueling tale of Gaston vs. Nature. "Okay," he said, not noticing Gaston shoot him a warning look. "I know a funny one. 

"Back when me and Gaston were going to open the tavern, we were looking for a good brewery to ship beer out to us. One night someone tipped us off that there was a brewer from Aglionby in town, so Gaston invited him over to my place for drinks after everyone else had gone home. As it happened, this guy had four beautiful daughters." 

There were a few catcalls. 

"Gaston really sweet-talked this guy for all he was worth and he made us a really good deal on beer. The girls wanted to hang around longer - to listen to Gaston's stories, you know - so Gaston escorted the brewer across town to the Inn while the girls stayed behind with me. He took the keys and I locked the door behind him." 

Louder catcalls. Gaston rolled his eyes. 

"Nothing _happened_," insisted LeFou. "Anyways, that lock was kind of sticky; the key wouldn't go in all the way unless you gave it an extra push, and until you did, it wouldn't turn. But I forgot to tell Gaston. I remembered about the sticky lock right after he left and mentioned it to the girls. 

"So little while later there's a key in the lock and the handle starts shaking and before I know it one of the girls shouts, 'Shove it in harder!'" 

The pavilion, which had gone quiet, nearly fell down with the force of the men's laughter. Gaston, finally remembering this story, grit his teeth and scowled into his beer. 

"And so Gaston," LeFou went on as soon as he could be heard, " - I'm not making this up - he actually breaks the door _in half_ - " another wave of laughter, "yelling, 'What the hell is going on in here?!'" 

"I don't see what's so funny," said Gaston sourly as the men pounded him on the back in their mirth. "We had to put off opening the tavern for a week because we had to wait for the carpenter to make us a new door." 

The men broke into laughter anew. 

"Party's over, lads," announced Cecil at length. "This town's got a big day ahead of it. Time to go on home." 

Protests. 

"The beer's all gone, anyways." 

"Oh." 

"Right." 

"Night, then." 

_With apologies to the Irish Rovers_


	8. I Do, Already

These Provincial Lives  
a Disney's Beauty and and Beast Fanfic  
by  
C. "Sparky" Read  
_Part IIX:_  
**"I Do, Already"**

LeFou was roused from a sound sleep by someone vigourously shaking his shoulder and hissing "LeFou! Get up!" in his ear. He slowly opened his eyes to see Gaston leaning over him, a lantern in one hand. 

"Come on!" urged Gaston eagerly. "We're going hunting!" 

Oh God. He hadn't been kidding during dinner the day before, then. LeFou closed his eyes. "Gaston, I had too much to drink," he protested weakly. 

Gaston went to the window and threw the shutters open, which did absolutely nothing because it was still pitch-black outside. "Nonsense!" replied the hunter, for a moment forgetting to keep his voice down. "I've seen you drink far more than that and still manage to stay in the saddle the next day. Hurry and get up before it gets light - I've got the horses all ready." 

LeFou peered blearily at him. "Did you sleep at _all?_" he wanted to know as he sat up. "All right," he agreed as he always did. "Just give me a minute." 

Gaston grinned at him like a little boy at Christmas, then he thumped out of the room. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"Gaston, wait up," complained LeFou as he urged a groggy Omri down the trail, trying to keep the other in sight. 

Stella, however, apparently wasn't tired. "Hurry up," Gaston called back before disappearing into the foggy darkness beyond the light of LeFou's lantern. Gaston did not carry a lantern while hunting, no matter how dark it was. He didn't need to, always managing to get along just fine on his own instincts. 

A trickling sound ahead told LeFou he was almost upon the river; and in a moment Omri had stumbled upon its bank. This part of the river flowed peacefully, and the thin crescent moon reflected sharply on its near-still surface. 

Gaston had stopped Stella on the bank a few yards away, and he was staring now at the river in silence (LeFou noticed at this moment that Gaston had rigged up a sort of back-sling for his crutch so he could have a place to put it while riding). LeFou looked between Gaston and the water for a moment before making a face and blurting, "Geez, Gaston, can't you keep your clothes on for once? It's _freezing!_" 

Gaston looked at the other in surprise for a moment before the comment registered, and he gave a half-hearted chuckle. "No," he said, and pointed at the river. "Look there. That's the spot where Cecil found me." 

LeFou gazed at the indicated place with some reverence. "Really? Oh." He paused uncomfortably before looking over at Gaston again. The hunter's expression had hardened. 

"Gaston?" LeFou prompted, concerned. 

Gaston spoke in a bitter whisper. "I'm broken, LeFou," he said. 

"Come again?" 

"I said I'm broken," Gaston snapped back, glowering. "That damn river chewed me up and spit me out." He spread out his hands. "Look at me - I used to be great." 

LeFou blinked at him, confused. A mood swing like this was typical of Gaston, but LeFou just hadn't been expecting it after the events of the day before. "But, you're still - " 

"Don't give me that," Gaston shot back, and LeFou closed his mouth with a snap. "Even you aren't that stupid. I used to be the _best_, LeFou: the best hunter, the best tracker, the best marksman. And now I'm _crippled_. Don't you know what that means?" 

Mutely, LeFou shook his head. 

"It means it's _over_. This is the end of the line. I'm going to die a crippled nobody in this backwoods fishing hole." He glared out over the river. 

LeFou stared. Had Gaston had him completely fooled?. Perhaps it had been his own wishful thinking that led him to believe that his friend was happy with his new life. Had it all been a front? A year may have been sufficient to restore most of Gaston's health, but what had it done for his emotional wounds? LeFou twisted Omri's reins between his hands anxiously. "But...you're getting married today," he pointed out. 

Gaston turned cold blue eyes on his companion. "Belle should have been my wife," he replied shortly. 

So, now it all came oozing out. "But Belle didn't even _like_ you!" 

Suddenly Gaston had LeFou by the lapels and had ripped him out of Omri's saddle. "She should have been _mine_, LeFou!" Gaston shouted venomously, his face contorted with fury. "What did she want with that ugly Beast, anyways, when I was _right there_." With that he tossed LeFou to the ground and sunk back into his saddle. "And then it turns out that the horrible thing was a Prince in disguise the whole time," he muttered darkly. "And now I can't even show my face outside this village or risk being locked up for attempted murder." 

LeFou picked himself up off of the damp ground slowly, a bit shaken. He wasn't really quite sure what to say. "Gaston, I don't understand," he fumbled. "I thought you were _happy_ here. I thought you _wanted_ to marry Emeline. She's _way_ better than Belle," he added obsequiously. 

Gaston didn't answer right away. "Yes," he said vaguely at last, looking away. 

LeFou hauled himself back up into Omri's saddle. "Look, Gaston," he said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything you had to go through. But I think you're wrong. About being...Well, I'll bet you're still the best hunter in the world. And you've got the best weapons, and the best horse, and soon you'll have the best wife - better than Belle," he reiterated firmly. "Only the best for you, just like always." 

He stopped then, waiting for a reply. Gaston's face had gone neutral, which could mean anything. Taking his chances, LeFou rattled on: 

"Forget about that Prince. He only gets respect because he wears a pointy hat. I'll bet he hasn't been hunting in his whole life. Belle can have him, and that Palace, too. I've been there, it's kinda creepy. Faces carved in all the stone everywhere. And too many windows. Yessir, you're pretty lucky to be marrying Emeline - who's better than Belle." Still no reply. LeFou coughed nervously. "Um, sun's coming up," he commented. 

At that Gaston's expression cleared. "Yes," he said. "We'd better hurry and catch that game, then, shouldn't we? I wouldn't want to come home empty-handed to my wife-to-be - " he caught LeFou's prodding look, " - who's better than Belle," he concluded. 

"_Much_ better than Belle," LeFou nodded approvingly. As he led Omri into step behind Stella while Gaston turned the mare back around onto the trail, LeFou fell deep into thought. Obviously things around here were not as cut-and-dry as they had at first seemed. All of a sudden that jar of worms was starting to look more like a barrel. 

Oh well, LeFou mused to himself, how bad could it possibly get? Then again, he had seen how bad it could get. In the end LeFou decided to do what he always did around Gaston: put on a cheerful face and hope for the best. 

At least there was a nice wedding to look forward to, right? 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"Stake 'er down tighter, boys, wind's pickin' up." At Caspar's command several village men went to work on the pavilion, which had begun to dance a bit in the wind. The old canvas tent had been bedecked with ribbons and flowers and streamers of brightly-coloured fabrics in honour of the day's event, and a few said it had never looked finer. 

Gaston had managed to track down a wild sow that morning, and caught two suckling pigs. Emeline had commandeered one of them, claiming she had a surprise in store. How she was going to prepare a pig and get ready for her own wedding was a mystery to LeFou, but from what he'd seen of her talents so far he was certain she could manage it. 

By the time the wedding procession started for the pavilion the wind was positively roaring, making quite a racket as it whipped at the canvas. Monsieur Dupres, a retired judge and also the town's priest, waited for their arrival at a makeshift podium at the back of the pavilion muttering nervously about being blown "clear to St. Peter's cowshed." 

The villagers (minus the judge and the few men working on securing the pavilion) gathered outside the Lecroix house, spirits high. Weddings didn't happen often enough in the tiny village, and each one was a very special event. Of course everyone wore their finest clothing (although the ladies had a time keeping their skirts from blowing over their heads in the fierce wind). 

There was a burst of applause as Gaston stepped onto the porch with Emeline on his arm. His suit and her dress - both made in varying shades of white and off-white - were simply splendid (the tailor and his entire family having been working on them for months now); and Gaston had the presence of mind to pause on the porch before descending for full dramatic effect. He was, as always, dashing and handsome; and she, with a wreath of white flowers atop her honeycoloured hair, was breathtaking. 

They glided elegantly off of the porch (remarkable how easy it is to forget someone's using a crutch when it's wielded by one who looks so grand) and towards the pavilion, followed closely by LeFou and the Lecroixes, and finally everyone else. Laughing, the village children blocked the couple's path every few yards with a white ribbon, which Emeline cut gaily with a pair of the tailor's best shears. At last they reached the pavilion and the flaps secured against the wind once everyone was inside. 

Gaston discreetly handed his crutch to LeFou and he and Emeline stood before the podium, his blue eyes locked on her green ones. Monsieur Dupres cleared his throat loudly, and they at last turned to him. 

"Shall we begin?" he asked them in his gravelly voice, eliciting a chuckle from the crowd. Taking this as their cue, Cecil, Fedore, and Madame and Doctor Lecroix stepped forward with a large square of pale gold silk fabric. Each holding one corner, they stood on stools, the Lecroixes on one side of the couple and the fisherman and his son on the other, and held the canopy over the bride and groom's heads. The ceremonial _carre_ thus in place, Monsieur commenced the service. 

But it soon became apparent that Gaston and Emeline weren't listening. "Not yet," the judge ordered as the couple tried to steal a kiss. "I'll tell you when you're allowed to do that." The villagers snickered. 

A few moments later it happened again. "I _said_ not yet," snapped the judge, physically pushing Gaston away from Emeline this time. "There'll be plenty of time for that. You only get one wedding." 

It was at about this time that the first tearing sound could be heard. "What's that?" whispered Madame Lecroix nervously, looking around. 

"Look Mama," said a little girl, pointing at a rip in the ceiling of the pavilion. "The wind's trying to get in." 

"You'd better hurry," Doctor Lecroix advised the judge. 

"Yes, yes," returned Monsieur Dupres, nudging up his spectacles and trying to remember where he had left off. "Ah," he said when he remembered, and then "Not _yet!_" when he caught Gaston and Emeline skipping to the end again. "You two," he said, indicating LeFou and Jessamyn. "I'm putting you in charge of keeping these two apart until I have finished." 

Obediently, Jess took ahold of Emeline's left arm, and LeFou hooked the top of Gaston's crutch into the groom's jacket. 

"That's better," grumped the judge, amid laughter. "Do you, Emeline," he went on, "take this man beside you as your husband, to love and cherish, to honor and comfort, to caress as you would be caressed, to be a friend and partner, to approve of and respect, as long as you both shall live?" 

That lemon-twist smile. "I do." 

"And do you, Gaston, take this woman beside you as your wife, to love and cherish, to honor and comfort, to caress as you would be caressed, to be a friend and partner, to approve of and respect, as long as you both shall live?" 

"Yes," snapped Gaston impatiently, further amusing the crowd. LeFou shoved him a bit with the crutch. "Er, I do." 

"I now - " 

It was then that it happened. With a sudden, horrible rip, the pavilion practically threw itself upon the assemblage as the poles tore their way through the old canvas and the guylines detached themselves from their stakes. Everyone screamed as they found themselves floundering in a sea of stiff fabric. 

"Don't panic, don't panic!" yelled Casper, untying the front flaps and wriggling out (good thing he had been standing at the back of the gathering). "Everyone just follow the sound of my voice! Out this way!" 

The pavilion emptied quickly as everyone - or nearly - made his or her way outside. 

"Hey, where's the happy couple?" Fedore wanted to know. 

Caspar and a couple other men walked the pavilion opening to the back and revealed Gaston and Emeline, right where they had been standing the whole time, engaged in a particularly steamy kiss. 

Monsieur Dupres fumed. "Not ye-" he started to protest, then just shrugged. "Well, close enough." 

Gaston and Emeline pulled apart amid cheering. Emeline gasped in surprise and the crowd cheered harder as LeFou suddenly popped out of the crumpled canvas beside the new bride, triumphantly holding aloft her garter. "I got it!" he shouted, darting away before Gaston could grab him (traditional as it was for the Best Man to steal the garter, LeFou wasn't taking any chances that Gaston wouldn't pound him for snatching something off of his new wife's leg). 

"Throw it here!" called the weaver's daughter eagerly. 

"Nah, it's too windy," LeFou told her. "I'd better just keep it." And with that he ran off laughing, half of the villagers on his heels. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

After the garter had been wrested away (by the weaver's daughter, I may add), the villagers surrounded the newlyweds, still in the middle of the fallen pavilion, while they drank wine from the double-handled marriage cup. Then, unable to carry his bride in the traditional way due to his handicap, Gaston merely slung her over his right shoulder, fetched up his crutch, and went back to the Lecroix house, theirs exclusively until the next day. 

Doctor and Madame Lecroix, Jessamyn, and LeFou had been invited to spend the rest of the day and the night in Cecil's home. Jess and LeFou retired to the back porch, which was well in the lee of the wind (which had conveniently begun to die down). 

"What did Gaston tell you about what happened to him when he first came here?" LeFou asked bluntly when Jessamyn had poured the tea. 

Jessamyn shrugged and picked up her cup. "It was a while before he told us anything," she said slowly. "After he woke up, and found out he was hurt, and that he was way out here..." She hesitated while LeFou watched her expectantly. "He didn't say much for the first few months. He yelled a little, but it wasn't anything anyone could really understand…Most of it was about Belle," Jess added shortly, and took a sip of tea. 

LeFou, who was about to do the same, looked up in surprise. He quickly set his cup down. "What did he say about Belle?" 

Jess hesitated, taking another sip. "He cursed her," she replied at last. 

There was silence between them as LeFou uneasily reclaimed his teacup and they sat there nursing their tea for a couple of minutes. At last Jessamyn said something. 

"He was upset for a long time." 

"How long?" 

"Through the end of summer." 

LeFou looked at Jessamyn quizzically. "How upset?" he wanted to know. 

Jessamyn exhaled. "You of all people should know the extent of Gaston's temper." 

"Of course, I - " 

"Well double that. At least." Jessamyn narrowed her eyes. "Very upset. Mama and I wanted Papa to throw him out before he hurt someone during one of his tantrums. But it's not Papa's way to turn out an injured man. And Emeline..." 

Jess paused to gather her thoughts, LeFou hanging impatiently on her words. 

"Well, Emeline..." Jessamyn frowned. "Emeline's hard to describe. She's just...not afraid of anything. And she can wait for something forever. That's what she did: she waited. She wasn't afraid of Gaston, so she sat in that room with him every day, for months and months, waiting for him to calm down. And then the first day of the fall harvest he comes out of the house, leaning on her, and thanks everyone for saving his life. It was the damndest thing." 

LeFou refilled both their cups. "Gaston's not as easy to figure out as everyone wants to think," he said thoughtfully. "He's not a one-trick pony, although he acts like it a lot of the time." He swirled the contents of his cup. "How do you think he feels about Belle now?" he asked curiously. He was still wondering about that morning. 

Jessamyn folded her hands on her lap. "We had to take the Magic Mirror away from him once we found out what it did because he kept asking it to show her to him," she said. "We figured it was just aggravating him. Emeline told me that, after we gave it back to him later, he never once asked to see Belle again." 

"He just spied on _me_." 

Jess smiled. "Only a couple of times." 

"Well, you didn't tell me," said LeFou, "what Gaston told you about...you know, that night. The Prince said that Gaston stabbed him and then fell accidentally over the railing." 

Jessamyn nodded slowly. "Gaston said he was trying to kill the Beast; he lost his balance and fell off the parapet." 

"Did he say he thought it was Belle's fault? Or the B - er, the Prince's?" 

Jess raised an eyebrow at him. "Why are you asking?" 

"Well..." LeFou shrugged. "I was just wondering if he blamed them for anything." 

"He blamed them for everything." 

LeFou shook his head sadly. "Gaston was right, then," he murmured. "He'll never be able to leave this place." 

"What do you mean? What was he right about?" 

LeFou sighed. "Belle and Prince Christophe might have found it in their hearts to forgive Gaston and let him go free," he explained, "but if Gaston can't find it in his heart to forgive _them_, he'd be better off here for the rest of his life." 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"Ready?" asked Caspar. "Then: let's go!" 

The village men and women descended upon the Lecroix house, whooping and hollerring and banging pots and pans together, and generally making enough racket to raise the dead. 

At last the front door opened to reveal Gaston, still in his wedding attire, scowling exaggeratedly. "Do you mind keeping it down?" he said in mock anger, trying not to smile. "We're on our honeymoon, you know." 

Emeline, in her white gown, appeared behind Gaston. She was smiling. "Oh dear," she said softly. "Look at all the people. You know what we have to do." 

"Right," replied Gaston agreeably. "Get my musket," he told her, and the villagers laughed, at which he joined in. "Well, get in here before I change my mind," he grinned, moving aside to give everyone access to the house. 

Crashing the couple's first night as newlyweds (and being invited inside for refreshments) was tradition, and of course the guests had been expected. The remaining keg of ale LeFou had brought had been tapped, and the two suckling pigs lay plated up on the dining table - the one Emeline had claimed that morning in a surprising form. She had made a cockentrice, a quaint, old-fashioned dish where the front half of a suckling pig and the back end of a capon are sewn together into a "mythical beast" and roasted stuffed with a bread and suet mixture. Everyone gathered around to admire it. 

"Only our Emeline would have thought of that," chuckled Cecil approvingly. "I'll bet even the Prince himself didn't have one of those at his wedding feast." LeFou decided to refrain from listing what the Prince _had_ had at his wedding feast - he'd never eaten so well in his entire life. 

Even utilising all the major rooms, the house was a little too crowded. Under normal circumstances the feast would have been moved to the pavilion but people would just have to make do with Standing Room Only. Plates of food and mugs of ale were passed carefully around from person to person until everyone was served, and then the toasts began. 

After nearly an hour of toasts, Gaston held up his hands to signal that he wanted to speak. Everyone dutifully fell silent. 

"I wanted to thank you all," he began loudly, so that everyone could hear him, even in the next room, "for giving Em and I such a lovely wedding." 

Enthusiastic cheers. 

"And," Gaston went on, putting his right arm around Emeline, "for giving me a place in your village." 

Even more enthusiastic cheers. 

"Which is why I hope I don't disappoint you," he said, "when I tell you that I am taking Emeline with me to my home in Molyneaux." 


	9. The Town Crier's Gonna Have A Field Day

These Provincial Lives  
a Disney's Beauty and and Beast Fanfic  
by  
C. "Sparky" Read  
_Part IX:_  
**"The Town Crier's Gonna Have a Field Day"**

You can well imagine the reaction garnered when Gaston made the announcement that he - and his new wife - were leaving Danvers. The party guests sort of stood there silently, their plates and mugs held before them gingerly as if they had suddenly become red-hot. Doctor and Madame Lecroix practically clung to one another in shock and surprise, and LeFou actually forgot that he had the ale keg's tap open; there was quite a puddle before he realised and shut it off. 

But Jessamyn wouldn't remain stupefied for long. "Gaston, you big idiot!" she barked, actually stamping a foot in anger. "What the hell is the matter with you? You can't _leave!_ You'll be arrested - or hanged," she added as an afterthought. "What a hell of a thing to say to everyone, after everything." 

"Jessamyn," warned her mother icily. "Watch your tongue." 

Gaston scowled at his sister-in-law. "I'll say what I like," he informed her brassily. "And I meant what I said: Emeline and I are moving to Molyneaux. The Prince can hang _himself_, for all I care." 

Cecil stepped forward. "Gaston, this is more serious than you seem to know," he said. "You may _well_ be hanged for your crimes." 

"What crimes?" Gaston shot back, removing his arm from Emeline's waist. "I was only hunting a Beast, nothing more. Everyone knows that." 

"You also imprisoned the Princess and tried to have her father put away - " 

"She wasn't a Princess then," Gaston interrupted the older man. "She was just a cheap - " 

LeFou tactfully interrupted before Gaston could slander yet another important person. "Gaston," he said uneasily, "what happened to this morning? You told me yourself you could never leave Danvers. What changed your mind?" 

Gaston hesitated, stealing a glance at Emeline, who as usual offered no comment. "I'm married now," he responded shortly. 

"Which is why you should stay!" Jess spoke up. "It wouldn't be very responsible of you to make a widow of my sister the very first month!" 

"Jessamyn, that's enough," Madame frowned. "No more of that sort of talk." 

"She could be right." It was Fedore, who was not known for making speeches. He turned to Gaston. "Gaston, you are my friend," he began. "I like you - we all like you." He glanced around at the guests, who murmured agreement. "And we want you to stay here. The Prince need never know you are even still alive. And we - all of us, the men I mean - we were to begin work on a new house for you and Emeline tomorrow." 

Gaston was surprised; he hadn't expected that. He took a few steps forward and laid a hand on Fedore's shoulder, his expression softening. "You are all my friends," he said sincerely, looking around. "And I thank you. For all you've done for me. But…" He took his hand from Fedore's shoulder and squared his jaw. "I already have a house. In Molyneaux. A big, fine house full of _my_ possessions that I earned myself. Why should I have to beg and borrow for the rest of my life when I am already a rich man? It would be _responsible_ of me - " he shot a glance at Jessamyn - "to provide for my new wife as best I can. And I can do that by moving back to Molyneaux to resume my life." 

LeFou shuffled forward nervously. "But Gaston," he argued, "you lost your life when you were proclaimed dead." 

That stopped Gaston short. He turned to LeFou, his eyes hard. "What are you saying?" he demanded. "Does someone else own my house now? My things?" 

"Well…sort of…" 

"Who is it? _Tell_ me." 

LeFou fidgeted. "Um…me?" 

Gaston blinked. Then he relaxed. "Is _that_ all?" He chuckled. "You really had me going, there." 

LeFou sighed. Now more than ever he was glad he had never sold the house or its contents. "It isn't just the house or the stuff," he said. "It's…" He trailed off as everyone, especially Gaston, looked at him in anticipation. "I just hope you don't expect to be able to just waltz back into town as if nothing ever happened," he said at last. "Things have changed, Gaston. You'll have to change too, if you ever want to go back." 

Gaston narrowed his eyes in anger. He thumped his crutch on the floor. "Isn't _this_ enough of a change for you?" he snapped. 

"No," LeFou told him evenly, although inside he cringed. 

Caspar coughed exaggeratedly. "Boy, is it ever late," he said loudly, setting down his plate and mug and heading for the door. He coughed again. 

The message was loud and clear. With a few hasty goodnights, the guests filed out of the house, leaving only LeFou and the Lecroixes behind with the newlyweds. When they were all gone, Doctor Lecroix turned to Gaston. 

"Son," he said, "I want both you and Em to think long and hard about your decision. I'm not saying that it's wrong; you make a good argument. I want you to know that I trust your judgment, otherwise I wouldn't have given you my daughter's hand in marriage. But perhaps this deserves further debate. We'll resume this discussion tomorrow. Goodnight." He herded Madame and Jessamyn out the door. 

LeFou lingered for a moment, trying to catch Gaston's eye, but the other wouldn't meet his gaze. Finally he followed his hosts back to Cecil's house. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

In the end, of course, Gaston stubbornly clung to his decision to leave, telling everyone he would rather take his chances with the Prince's men and regain the dignity of his old life than "hide like a rabbit" on the edge of the Principality, living off the goodwill of others. LeFou had to fess up at last about the depleted state of Gaston' bank account, and offered to share the contents of his own account as well as the proceeds of his business with Gaston, even to make him a partner if he wished. Surprisingly, Gaston was not angry at the news that LeFou had spent his money, but expressed interest in reopening the tavern, at which LeFou gave only a vague reply. LeFou was none too keen on turning his home back into a pub now that he had gotten it all to himself again, but he decided to keep an open mind about it. Give it some time, he thought. Maybe it could work after all. 

Jessamyn was to come along as well, and it was Gaston who had requested that she do so. "The girl deserves more than gutting fish every day for the rest of her life," was his reasoning. No one could argue with that, and Doctor and Madame Lecroix were content to see both their daughters off to bigger and better things. 

The day of departure, nearly a week later, became a sort of unofficial holiday as everyone set aside their work and turned out to see off the four travelers. Many gifts, both token and useful, were given to the new couple; and even Jessamyn and LeFou received a few items. The Lecroix family wagon, Gaston's and Emeline's to keep, was getting rather full by the time the last goodbyes were said. 

"Come back for Christmas, dear," said Madame mistily as she fussed over Gaston, straightening his collar, his hair, anything she could. Gaston stood and took it uncomplainingly, even when she licked her thumb and wiped a nonexistent smudge off his face. "We will, Ma," he assured her, taking her hands and giving her a kiss. "As long as we don't have to bring Jess." He jumped a little as the aforementioned happened by, overheard, and gave him a sharp pinch on the side. 

The doctor stepped up. "Good journey, Son," he said, shaking Gaston's hand. "Keep my girls safe." 

"I will." 

Cecil and Fedore were next. "You be careful out there, boy," Cecil said sternly. 

Gaston nodded wisely. "I always have been," he replied. "Thanks again for hauling my shattered bones out of that river," he added flippantly. 

"Anytime," from Fedore. 

The wagon loaded, LeFou climbed up into Omri's saddle, and Gaston mounted Stella. Emeline and Jessamyn were to drive the wagon. 

"Goodbye, dear," Madame told LeFou, patting his foot. "Come back to visit us sometime. And," she added, lowering her voice, "try and keep that friend of yours out of trouble." 

It was a little like asking someone to try and keep an elephant from charging, but LeFou agreed anyways. 

At last they were underway. LeFou took the lead, and Jess spurred Gemma, the dappled mare hitched to the wagon, after him. Gaston walked Stella slowly after the wagon, extending his goodbyes as he waved and called to all the villagers who had gathered to see him off. He was relieved to finally be leaving, but it wouldn't be truthful to say he wasn't apprehensive. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"Yes, I see. Er…which one is Chloe, again?" 

"She's the one who likes goose liver, looking at stars, and polkas." At Gaston's blank look LeFou amended, "The red one." 

"Ah." Gaston had been quite interested when LeFou had begun to recount to him how he'd been courting the Fourreur triplets, but all at once he drew Stella to a halt; and in response LeFou did the same with Omri. 

Gaston stared down the path. "We're almost there," he announced. 

The trip from Danvers to Molyneaux, while normally a five-or-six day journey, had only taken them four (or thereabouts, it was now just past dawn on the fifth day). This was due to Gaston's impatience, and he had driven them all a bit hard. Part of his hurry lay in the fact that he didn't want to run into anyone on the way, and as luck would have it, they hadn't exactly (they had passed one family in a mule-pulled wagon, but it was after dark, and there had been no hint of recognition). And now they were very close to town. Jessamyn stopped the wagon just behind the two men. 

"All right," said LeFou. "We'll just ride into town slowly, and that way - " 

Stella reared suddenly as Gaston jabbed his heels into her flanks, and then she tore down the path towards town. "Doing things slowly takes too much time!" shouted Gaston over his shoulder as he and the black mare disappeared from sight around a bend. 

LeFou gaped after him. "Darnit Gaston!" he cried in frustration. Already he had broken his promise to Madame Lecroix. With a worried glance over his shoulder at the sisters, he hurried Omri after Stella. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

Madame Boulanger received a nasty shock when she looked up from arranging baguettes in her basket to spot the late Gaston, astride his black mare, riding boldly right into the misty town square. She dropped her basket and stared. 

Gaston wasn't one to waste a good dramatic moment. Yanking on Stella's reins, he caused her to rear magnificently once again, and as she came back down he addressed the baker's wife: 

"Good morning, Madame." 

At that Madame Boulanger raised a shaking finger and pointed at Gaston, following up with a shrill scream. And then she crumpled like a sack of millet. 

The scream did wonders to draw curious heads out of windows all around the square. Shouts of "My God, it's Gaston!" was sufficient to cause dozens of people, many still in their nightclothes, to come stumbling out into the street to gape in awe. 

Gaston rode Stella in a slow circle around the fountain, grinning magnanimously at everyone. Even if he wound up arrested, he knew this scene would have been worth it. 

Denis, who had been up well before dawn working on horseshoes, was the first to step forward. "_Gaston_," he breathed, eyes wide. "It _couldn't_ be you." 

"It's a phantom," cried Hermes' wife, wringing her skirts. "A phantom come to haunt us!" 

"Nonsense, my good woman," replied Gaston grandly, holding up a hand. "It is merely I, returning to you at last." 

The Fourreur triplets, all in their nightdresses, clung to one another in rising ecstasy. "It's a miracle!" exclaimed Pamela. 

Gaston brought Stella close to them. "Isn't it, though?" he beamed, and they all but collapsed in a swoon. 

Bertram, who was fanning his wife absently with a hand, was the first to spot LeFou enter the town square on foot. "It's LeFou!" he exclaimed, pointing. "LeFou brought Gaston back!" 

Gaston blinked in surprise, powerless as the focus of the townspeople suddenly shifted to the other man. 

"How'd you do it, LeFou?" 

"Where'd you find him?" 

More than a little peeved, Gaston opened his mouth to inform everyone that he didn't need anyone to "bring him back" when a loud, commanding voice said: 

"_You!_ How _dare_ you return here!" 

It was Prince Christophe, striding into the square from the direction of the bookstore. And he was furious. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

Christophe had ridden into Molyneaux early to pick up a gift for Belle before she woke: a book he had asked Monsieur Ockley to order for him, because he had heard that Belle was interested in obtaining a copy of it. Of course he could have gotten a copy anywhere, even directly from the author if he so chose; but he enjoyed giving Belle's old friend his business because it made him feel generous. 

But he felt less than generous as he stormed right up to Gaston, who was still mounted on Stella. Four guards, who had accompanied the Prince to the village, fell into step behind him. 

"Dismount at once," said one of the guards sternly, "and kneel before your Prince." 

Gaston and Christophe looked one another in the eye as if each were trying to stare the other down. As the guard started to repeat his request, Gaston interrupted loudly: "I cannot." 

The villagers gasped. Gaston had defied the Prince! 

Christophe handed his book to one of the guards and turned back to Gaston, hands behind his back. His expression was neutral. "Cannot?" he repeated. "Or will not?" 

More silence as the two men continued to stare at one another. At last Gaston dismounted - to Stella's right instead of left, which was odd - and seemed to bounce once on his right leg before pulling his crutch from its sling and tucking it under his left arm. In the same tone as before, he reiterated, "_Can_ not." 

This was almost too much for the crowd to swallow. The great, legendary Gaston was crippled. The Fourreur triplets each emitted a squeaky sort of squeal before sliding to sit on the ground, leaning on each other. 

Christophe barely glanced at the crutch, although he did acknowledge it. "Very well," he acquiesced, thinking himself very accommodating indeed. "Then you will bow." 

Gaston kept his icy blue eyes on Christophe's face, at first refusing to look away, like one predator challenging another. But then out of a corner of his eye he spotted Emeline squeeze her way through the crowd, and he knew he was defeated. He had to do whatever he could to avoid going to gaol - or something worse. And so, lowering his eyes, he bowed humbly. 

It was what Christophe had wanted, but he still wasn't satisfied. Even a year after the event he had no problem recalling images of this man coming at him with weapons drawn, willing to do what ever cold-blooded thing he had to just to have Belle - My Belle! thought the Prince - all to himself. It had been easy to forgive Gaston when he thought the other was dead. 

Christophe leaned forward imperceptibly. "I could have you put to death," he said, realising a split second later that he said "could" when what he had meant to say was "should". Gaston looked up at him sharply, still in mid-bow, and the Prince was pleased to see a twinge of anxiety in the other man's eyes. 

Suddenly someone was on the ground at the Prince's feet. It was a beautiful blonde woman that Christophe had never seen before. 

"Please, Your Highness," she said, her clear green eyes upturned. "I beg you to have mercy." 

Gaston straightened up, staring at Emeline in horror. He sought out Jessamyn and LeFou and found them standing side by side not far away. "Get her out of here!" he hissed with a gesture, and, with a glance at each other, they hurried forward and took Emeline by her arms. 

"Wait," said Christophe, raising a hand, and Jess and LeFou froze obediently. The Prince held out his other hand, and Emeline took it, rising to her feet. 

"Who are you to this man?" he asked her. 

Emeline lowered her eyes deferentially, and sank into a curtsy. "I am his wife," she replied. 

The Fourreur triplets squeaked again, and this time fell senseless. 

Christophe gazed at her, then over at Gaston. "His wife?" he repeated slowly. Gaston looked away, frustrated. He hadn't meant for Emeline - or anyone else - to come to his rescue. 

"Pray, what is your name, fair lady?" Christophe had turned his attention back to the woman. 

"Emeline," replied the other, and the Prince kissed her hand. 

"I am honoured to meet one so brave," he said, bowing. "And forgive me for frightening you; I will not have your husband put to death. Although," he went on sternly, looking over at Gaston once more, "I will order now him to never again approach either myself or the Princess as long as he shall live, or until such time as I say otherwise." 

Gaston acknowledged the decree with another bow. "As you wish," he replied hollowly. 

Christophe released Emeline's hand, and she took a step backwards before turning and standing next to her husband. Gaston put an arm about her as if she needed protecting, and shot Christophe a challenging look, which the Prince did not, this time, return. 

"I bid you all a good day," Christophe excused himself, and led his guards out of the town square to fetch their horses. 

When the Prince was gone LeFou and Jessamyn scurried up to Gaston and Emeline. "There, you almost gave us heart attacks, you happy now?" snapped Jess, trembling a little. Without a word, Gaston put his free arm around her, and she pressed close to him. 

"Gaston," said Nicodeus quietly, approaching the group cautiously, "are you really here to stay?" 

Gaston squeezed his wife and sister-in-law briefly, and exchanged a look with LeFou. "I am," he said. "This town is my home, isn't it?" 

Nicodeus smiled. "Sure it is, Gaston," he agreed. 

"Well then." Gaston disengaged himself from the women and took a step or two forward. "Who wants the honour of helping me move back into my house?" he addressed the village men with a jaunty air, indicating the wagon with a sweep of his arm. 

Suffice to say there was no lack of volunteers. 


	10. Legends Never Die

These Provincial Lives  
a Disney's Beauty and and Beast Fanfic  
by  
C. "Sparky" Read  
_Part X:_  
**"Legends Never Die..."**

Gaston rode slowly through the woods, giving Stella free rein to go wherever she wished. He was in no hurry to go anyplace in particular, and he had taken no weapons with him when he had left that morning. He was not interested in game today. 

He now understood what LeFou had meant the other day when he had tried to explain how the forest had changed. "It just feels different," LeFou had said, and Gaston had made fun of him. But now he could see what the other man was getting at. The place _was_ different, somehow, although all the trees looked the same. It occurred to Gaston that perhaps he ought to apologise to LeFou for his behaviour, but presently the notion escaped him. 

Although Gaston had ridden a couple of horses while in Danvers, he could not do so whenever he had wished as they did not belong to him. Having Stella available to him every minute of the day had already made a profound difference in the life of a man who could not move about as freely as he once could. The mare had become a sort of extension of his own body, allowing him to regain some of the speed and agility he had once possessed. When he rode Stella, Gaston felt whole again. 

And so this morning, the very day after arriving back in Molyneaux, Gaston had taken Stella out for a ride well before dawn. Although he knew LeFou would have accompanied him, he had gone alone. He wanted to think. He wouldn't normally go out of his way to think, but this time the circumstances warranted it. 

Prince Christophe had spared his life, but Gaston wasn't all that sure that he was off the hook entirely; the Prince clearly loathed him and may still decide to enact some other sort of punishment in time. Gaston didn't really know what sorts of things people were made to do when they committed crimes against the Crown, but he didn't want to ask anyone else lest he appear stupid. Best thing to do was simply wait for the hammer to fall, if it ever did. Why get grey hairs over something you can't help anyways? Satisfied with this logic (for now), Gaston breathed deeply, and absentmindedly added scent to the list of things different about the woods. 

Little about Stella escaped Gaston's notice, and when she slowed imperceptibly and pricked her ears forward, he went on instant alert. Not too far off another person on horseback was moving slowly through the forest. It sounded like a big horse, too. Gaston shifted his weight and in response the black mare moved off of the path and into the darkness between the trees. Horse and rider waited in silence. 

Presently a Clydesdale plodded slowly into view as his rider sat back in the saddle regally, wrapped in a cloak and with face obscured by a hood. Delicate hands gripped the reins, but Gaston didn't need that clue to know that this was a woman, for he recognised the horse and knew his owner at once. Gaston could have remained where he was unnoticed quite easily had he been alone, but Stella chose that moment to blow softly. Gaston made a quick mental note to work with her on remaining silent while hunting now that he was going to have to rely on her more - but that was of little import now. Phillipe stopped to sniff at the shadows, trying to figure out what horse was there, causing his rider to look as well. Defeated, Gaston urged Stella forward onto the path. 

Belle pushed back her hood, staring at Gaston the way everyone did when they first caught sight of the man who was supposed to be dead, even if they had heard he was back. It was always that first glimpse that made them boggle, not exactly in disbelief, but in a sort of sensory denial, as if the mind simply could not fathom what it saw. Belle had that look on her face now. 

"Gaston," she said, the way everyone did, as if trying to convince herself that what she was seeing was real. "It's really you. I heard...That is, Christophe..." Gaston, who had kept his expression neutral, was inwardly surprised when Belle suddenly broke into a dazzling smile, and he realised that perhaps this was the first time she had ever smiled that way at him. "Oh, Gaston," she said, moving Phillipe closer. "This is such a relief. I'm so glad." 

Although Gaston had mentally rehearsed all kinds of unkind speeches and reactions he might give should he ever encounter Belle alone somewhere, that simple smile had all but disarmed him. How he had always wanted her to smile at him that way…and now, at last - when it was too late - she was. He switched tactics, putting on a pleasant face. "Are you," he said simply, trying to buy time for his brain to work out something appropriate. 

"Yes," responded Belle, putting one hand over her heart. "I never wanted you _dead_, Gaston. I hope you never thought that." 

Of course Gaston had thought that, and still did, but he decided to play along. "Now why would I think something like that?" he replied, not sounding as convincing as he would have liked. 

Belle wasn't fooled for a second. Her smile vanished, replaced by a hurt expression. "I don't hate you, Gaston," she said quietly. 

"And why should you?" replied Gaston. He scowled slightly. "You have nothing to fear from me. Not with Prince Furball and his guard dogs at your beck and call." He turned Stella around. "And your bodyguards over there can tell him I called him that, too." 

Belle, who wasn't about to dignify Gaston's nickname for Christophe with a reaction, frowned at his second comment. "What bodyguards?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at the trees. 

Gaston drew Stella to a halt, and twisted in his saddle to look back at Belle. "Those three thugs on horseback over there," he said, pointing to the very trees Belle was examining. "They're following you." 

"_Are they_," Belle said so frostily that Gaston raised an eyebrow at her in surprise. "Come out at once," Belle called to the trees, sounding a lot like her husband. At her command three Royal Mounted Guards emerged onto the path, looking sheepish. 

"Forgive us, Princess," said one, "but the Master - " 

Belle sighed. "Ordered you to 'keep me in sight', I know. Well you've been found out, go on back to the Palace. I'll finish my walk alone, thank you." The three guards left obediently, and Belle turned back to Gaston. 

"Christophe is always doing things like that," she explained with a shrug. "It's very annoying." 

Gaston had to smile a little. "Has you on a short leash, does he?" 

Belle smiled back, wryly. "Something like that," she replied. 

"He the jealous type, too?" 

A pause. "Perhaps a little," she had to admit, recalling a few instances at Royal functions before they were married, when Christophe would hover about her quite closely whenever there were good-looking noblemen in the room. "Why do you ask?" 

"Because." Gaston shrugged self-importantly. "I am under Royal Decree to stay away from you." 

Belle raised an eyebrow at him. "Then you, sir," she said amusedly, "are breaking the law." 

"Yes I am," replied the other, a twinkle in his eye as he leaned towards her. "Worth it, wasn't it?" 

Belle rolled her eyes. No doubt about it, Gaston was back. "None of that," she chided him. "We're both married now. Which reminds me, I'd better get back to Prince Furball before he sheds on something important." 

That was too funny not to laugh at, and Gaston did. "I suppose I should get back to my old lady, myself," he announced presently. 

"I won't keep you, then." Belle picked up Phillipe's reins. "Goodbye, Gaston." 

"Wait," said Gaston suddenly, walking Stella to her side. Belle looked at him curiously. "What is it?" she asked. 

Gaston slowly untied a fabric pouch from his belt. "I was going to keep this," he said, fingering the flat object in the pouch for a moment, "But I don't think I want it anymore anyways. Here." 

Belle took it, and knew what it was even before pulling it out. "Thank you," she said, looking into the Magic Mirror nostalgically. "I thought it was gone." 

"Well," said Gaston shortly, turning Stella around once again. He left without a goodbye. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"Full house," remarked Jessamyn, reaching into the depths of a cupboard for the last two mugs. "Was it always like this?" 

"Not always," LeFou replied, taking the mugs and filling them. "Sometimes, though. I think that's the last of it," he told the girl, pressing on the keg's tap. "I knew there wouldn't be enough to last the night." 

"I'm sure it won't matter," Jess smiled at him. "I don't think it was the ale everyone came for - Oh, I didn't mean it isn't any good or anything," she amended, afraid she may have hurt the other's feelings. 

But LeFou waved her off good-naturedly. "Believe me," he said, "when Gaston is involved, it's never the ale that everyone comes for." He grinned. "Therein lies the secret." 

"Well," said Jessamyn, handing the mugs to a villager, "I'm sure your ale will give Gaston a run for his money," she said with a wink. "Just give it some time." And with those words of wisdom she abandoned the bar, rejoining the throng of people in the taproom. 

Hermes, Denis, Bertram, and Nicodeus stepped up to the bar then, Nicodeus tapping on it to get LeFou's attention. 

"Sorry fellows," the brewer spoke up, "You just missed the last of it." 

"That's not it," said Hermes, and he, Bertram, and Nicodeus all looked expectantly at Denis, who said nothing. Bertram elbowed him. 

"Oh," said Denis, thus prompted. "Listen, LeFou. We all just, ah, wanted to say we're real glad to see the tavern open again. The old village wasn't the same without it." 

"Well, it wouldn't have been much of a tavern without Gaston." 

"It definitely would have been different," agreed Denis, glancing over at Gaston, who stood in front of a boar-head trophy surrounded by villagers, mostly young boys. He appeared to be telling another hunting story, judging by the way he was holding his crutch like a rifle and pretending to shoot it at some unknown enemy. Denis turned back to LeFou. "But it still would have been a good tavern," he said finally, and his three companions nodded. 

Some commotion at the front door demanded everyone's attention, and when LeFou saw who it was he scurried right over the bar. 

"Moira!" he cried, attempting to embrace his sister, but was completely foiled due to the fact that she was so pregnant he could only barely get his hands on her shoulders. He pulled a face at her. "Gee, Mo, how many you got in there? " 

Moira laughed, as did several people in the vicinity. "According to the doctor, just one," she replied, patting her belly. "Lucky number seven." Maneuvering sideways, she managed the hug quite well. She wasn't much taller than her brother - whom she rather resembled - which helped, as she was so profoundly pregnant she clearly was incapable of any kind of stooping. "Where is he?" she asked, being too short to see over anyone's heads, and LeFou pointed her in Gaston's direction before greeting his brother-in-law. 

"Piers," he said, shaking the thin, bespectacled man's hand. "How's the number business?" 

"Exponential," replied the accountant, smiling thinly. "I see you aren't lacking in income, either," Piers added, taking in the crowded room. 

"Not at all. Where are the kids?" 

"With their nanny. We decided not to bring them all the way out here; you know how children can behave during a long wagon ride." 

"Is Andre still quacking like a duck?" 

"No. These days he prefers barking like a fox. Good heavens, what on Earth is that woman doing?" Piers interrupted himself, frowning at the bar. 

LeFou turned to look. Several men were hoisting the ungainly Moira up onto the bar amid cheering. "I think she's going to sing," said LeFou. Moira had a pleasing voice and was often asked to sing when she visited the tavern. 

Piers _harrumphed_ as someone started playing a fiddle. Everyone began clapping in rhythm to a fast country song, while Moira sung the words. "In her condition," the accountant remarked with a long-suffering sigh. "I suppose there's no stopping her now. I'm going to see if there's some port." He ducked behind the bar, trying not to notice as his heavily pregnant wife jokingly lifted her skirts enticingly at the men, who laughed and cheered. 

LeFou made his way over to Gaston, who was seated in his chair before the fire. The hunter's young audience had gone, and he was silently watching the lively scene at the bar, a contented look on his face. He glanced over as LeFou approached. 

"Pretty good turnout, wouldn't you say, LeFou?" 

"Sure is," replied the other, taking his place at Gaston's elbow. "You were right Gaston, I think just about everyone is here." 

Gaston stretched languidly, closing his eyes and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Of course I was right," he stated. "Myself and this tavern make a good combination." 

"You bet they do." LeFou hesitated. "We ran out of ale pretty quickly though. I should start ordering beer from Aglionby again." 

"No." 

LeFou frowned. "'No'?" he repeated. 

Gaston opened one eye and peered over at LeFou. "No," he said again. "We don't need that mass-produced stuff. Let people drink fine, handcrafted ale for a change. And yours is the best." 

LeFou frowned deeper. "It isn't the _best_, Gaston," he argued. 

Gaston opened both eyes, put his arms down, and leaned forward. "Don't make that mistake, LeFou," he said seriously. 

"What mistake?" 

Gaston rubbed his jaw. "I'm going to tell you a secret," he said, putting an arm around LeFou's shoulders and glancing around furtively. Satisfied that no one would overhear, he went on. "If you want to _be_ the best," he said clandestinely, "you have to _think_ you're the best." He tapped his head with a forefinger for emphasis. "If you _think_ you're the best, then you start to _know_ you're the best, and pretty soon other people know it too." 

LeFou blinked. "I'm not sure that's right," he said. 

"Of course it is!" boomed Gaston, withdrawing his arm and sitting back. "And if you're _really_ good, people start knowing you're the best even before _you_ do. And _I'm_ telling _you_, you _are_ the best. At lots of things." 

Now LeFou was sure he wasn't hearing Gaston right. "What do you mean? What things?" 

Gaston rolled his eyes. "All right, look," he said, trying to be patient. "Didn't I take you with me hunting nearly every day after I met you? Haven't you been my partner in every competition, every tournament, all over this Principality? Didn't I pick_ you_ to go into business with? Yes, yes, and yes." Gaston threw his arms up in frustration. "I would only choose the best man in town to do all that with, wouldn't I? And don't I deserve the best?" 

"Er." LeFou was at a loss. "Of course you do." 

Gaston sank back into the chair with a grunt. "Well then," was his reply, satisfied that he had at last managed to get his point across. Really, Gaston thought grumpily to himself, LeFou can be so dense sometimes. Good thing he has me to think for him. 

After a few moments of silence Gaston spoke up again. "Speaking of the best," he began, nodding towards the Fourreur triplets, who were busily flirting with a group of single men near the bar. "You aren't serious about those girls, are you?" 

"Well, I dunno," said LeFou vaguely. "Why - do you think they're the best girls in town?" 

"No, just the opposite." 

"That's really not a very nice thing to say, Gaston," LeFou felt compelled to argue. 

"How chivalrous of you. Now be quiet and listen." Gaston gestured at Jessamyn. The girl was gaily dancing with Piers, who seemed to finally be enjoying himself (he had, in fact, found some port behind the bar). "What do you think of her?" 

LeFou blinked. "Jessamyn? She's just a kid!" 

"She's eighteen. What are you, over the hill? I know she's a brat," Gaston went on. "But, she's my sister, and I'd rather see her with someone I trust than, well, someone I don't. You like her, don't you?" 

"Well," LeFou hedged. He hadn't really thought about it. 

"Of course you do," said Gaston, punching the other in the arm. "You might as well give it a shot," he said. "People are going to talk anyways." 

He was probably right. Jessamyn had moved into Moira's old room, as she didn't want to intrude on Gaston and Emeline's privacy, and LeFou had offered. She in turn had offered to help out with the brewing and bottling, which was the only reason LeFou had at last agreed to reopen the tavern. 

"Well, you can start by asking her to dance," grinned Gaston, giving LeFou a shove towards the crowd. 

LeFou obediently approached Jessamyn, who was just then handing Piers off to Emeline. Jess looked up and smiled. 

"I have bad news," LeFou said with a straight face as they started to dance. "Your brother says we have to get married." 

Jessamyn feigned concern. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said. "Does this mean I have to call you by your first name?" 

"No. You have to call me Pookiebear Sugarlips." 

Gaston watched with satisfaction as LeFou said something to Jessamyn as they danced and she started laughing. He had been right, again. He looked up as Emeline walked up to him and sat on one of the arms of the chair. 

"Didn't I tell you, Em?" Gaston asked smugly. "Didn't I tell you we'd have it all? A grand home, and a booming business? _Look_ at this place: it's _packed_." Gaston put an arm around his wife. "Nothing but the best for us, just like I promised." 

Emeline smiled her lemon-twist smile, and said nothing. She didn't need to. 

_end_


End file.
